Joseph’s mind latched on an article he’d seen in last week’s Forney Cater, and he realized he had a solution to the gun problem. “We could work a deal if you’d show me how to improve my scores at the range.”
Martinez cocked an eyebrow. “Mojo, no amount of practice or training can improve your aim.”
“Come on. County sharpshooter? It’s a piece of cake for you.”
“Fine, we’ll trade. But no promises on the scores.” He motioned again at the plate. “Eat.”
“How’s the investigation coming?” Joseph asked, and then took a bite of sandwich.
“Slowly. Cass picked up a pair of running shoes from the foyer at your mom’s house. Are they yours or Joseph’s?”
“Joseph’s. Cass is back?”
“At least until Hoffner gets home. Do you know where Joseph was yesterday?”
He thought quickly about his day and whether anyone could figure out his morph into Moses based on his activities. The interviews he’d attended were over by two o’clock. He’d gone to a donut shop in Shreveport to drown his sorrows from yet another disappointing day of job-hunting and returned home at around five-thirty. He’d driven Moses’ car to the interviews, leaving Moses with their mom’s Buick, so it was possible that the neighbors would think it was Joseph that had taken his mother out. “Momma had a doctor’s appointment around four. Joseph drove her there and to the quilting club. I don’t know whether he stayed at the doctor’s office or at the meeting.”
“If he left her, where would he have gone?”
Joseph shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Okay, I’ll see what I can find out from the doc and the quilting club. We need to look at your mom and Joseph’s paperwork to see if anything pops out. Is it okay if we bring the stuff in your mom’s desk back to the station?”
Joseph felt a bit surreal as he continued to speak about himself in the third person. “I’m not sure Joseph’s even opened a bank account. When he was arrested, me and mom went to New York and emptied his apartment. Everything we didn’t sell is in the attic. You can take all that, too.”
Martinez poked his tongue in his cheek. “We’ll, uh, need to look at your financial records, Mojo. Sorry, but we have to do it.”
“It’s okay,” Joseph answered, thankful he had taken the time to open his brother’s desk this morning. “I know you’ve got to go through everything.”
“Did Joseph have any enemies?”
“You know what he was doing when he got arrested, right?”
Martinez hesitated. “No, not really.”
“He was hacking into computers and selling the information.”
“Wow. What was he stealing?”
“Names, addresses, social security numbers, credit card data, that kind of thing.”
“Who did he sell to?”
“No idea.”
“If he was in New York, was he selling the stuff to the mafia?”
Joseph’s smile was small. “We didn’t even know he was unemployed until he got arrested. He told us he was a contract programmer.”
“Go back to the beginning. Tell me everything you remember about what happened with your brother.”
“You really think this is about Joseph?”
“It’s possible. It could also be about you. We’ll get to that later. Tell me about Joseph.”
So he did, being as vague as a brother should be when discussing his absent twin’s life. And in truth, Joseph and Moses hadn’t been close while Joseph was in New York. For no reason other than time got the best of them; each was busy with his own career, his own life. Speaking as Moses, he told Martinez about Joseph’s call to their mother to let her know about the arrest for computer crimes. As he talked, Joseph watched Martinez to ensure the older man believed he was Moses.
Martinez took notes for several minutes and Joseph finished his sandwich. He reached for his fork and started on the fruit salad.
“I didn’t know you were ambidextrous,” Martinez said.
Joseph forced himself to continue chewing, clocking the fact that he held the fork in his left hand. Moses was a righty. One of those details. “Sometimes.”
“Cool, man. Hey, maybe you should try shooting with your left hand. It couldn’t hurt your scores any.” He flashed a grin, his white teeth stark in his brown face. “If you don’t know who Joseph was selling the credit card information to, maybe the prosecutor in the case did.”
“Do you think they’d help us?”
“It’s hard to predict what city people will do, but we can try. Let’s talk about you. Can you think of any recent cases you’ve worked that got ugly? I mean, you weren’t involved in the whole Church of the True Believer stuff back in the spring, were you?”
Joseph made an educated guess. “Only on the periphery. I don’t think they’d come after me.”
Martinez eyed Joseph. “Mitch Stone is back at work and going through your files, but you’re the only one who will remember details. When you’re ready, I need you to go through your cases. Maybe something will stand out.”
“No problem.”
“Those Mexican drug dealers are still inside, but Rob Conroy is out.”
Joseph smiled faintly at the memory of Moses’ joy when both arrests went down. “Do you think Conroy did this?”
“Honestly, it’s doubtful, but Cass is looking into his alibi. Watch out for him, okay? You caused him a lot of grief.”
“Will do.”
“One other thing. How does your family know Donna Moore?”
“Who?”
“Donna Moore. She has an accounting office off the square.”
Joseph mentally walked the streets branching from Arcadia’s downtown. “Green and white awning?”
Martinez nodded.
“I haven’t met her. Why?”
“She was murdered last night.” He hesitated. “By the same person who killed your mom and Joseph.”
Joseph folded his hands and sat back in the booth. His mind was racing. If the same shooter came after both families, then perhaps this was about Moses, and not about him. “There’s a link between us and Moore?”
“It is possible that both shootings were random. But she was killed at her house, which is nowhere near where you live.”
Joseph shook his head. “I’ve never heard Momma or Joseph mention her name, and don’t remember seeing anything from her in the house.”
“I’ll get a picture of her to see if that triggers your memory.”
Joseph pushed his plate away. “Let’s do it now. I can look at case files afterward. The distraction would be good.”
CHAPTER 47
IT TOOK NEARLY HALF an hour for Joshua Reed to calm down. Cass’s initial reaction to his hysteria was humor. Unless the man had something to gain from murdering the Franklins, it was unlikely he was involved in Donna Moore’s killing. Once Joshua’s tears abated, she asked, “Did you kill Miss Moore?”
“Of course not. But nobody else benefits from her death.”
“If you didn’t kill her, and if you’re the only beneficiary to her estate, then someone else had a different motive.”
He considered this. “Do I need to prove I didn’t kill her?”
“That’s a good placed to start. Tell me about last night.”
“I locked the doors at five and set the alarm, as usual.” He squirmed in his chair and looked at her from the corner of his eye. “And then went to a meeting.”
“What kind of meeting?”
Joshua chewed his lower lip. “Alcoholics Anonymous.”
Cass understood his reticence. From her father’s experiences with alcohol, she knew that AA was a dichotomy. On the one hand, the group discreetly publicized its meetings and welcomed anyone with a drinking problem, regardless of how many times they’d backslid. But the AA community was fairly tight-knit. Members limited the information they shared with non-alcoholics about the group’s activities. “How long have you been on the wagon?”
He reached into
his trouser pocket and extracted a small coin-shaped object, brass-colored on one side, the other a deep red with ‘XV’ embossed in the middle of a pyramid. Cass recognized it as an anniversary chip. A dish on her father’s dresser held quite a collection of the discs, an impressive testament to his many failures at sobriety. “Fifteen years. Almost sixteen.”
“Meetings are an hour?”
“Last night was longer. We didn’t wrap up until almost seven.”
“What did you do then?”
“I had dinner with a friend.”
“Which friend, and where?”
Joshua started doodling again. Interlocking squares. Hesitantly, he outlined the rest of his evening: meeting a friend, having dinner at a Greek place in Shreveport, and finishing the night off at a club called The Rainbow Room. It wasn’t until he reached this part of the story that Cass understood his reluctance. The Rainbow Room was a gay hangout in Shreveport, notorious for its wild parties. “You went clubbing on a Wednesday?” she asked.
He licked his lips. “It was our anniversary.”
“How late were you there?”
“Until about three.”
She would check his alibi, but Cass couldn’t imagine Joshua Reed having the gumption to kill his employer, or anyone else. She changed the subject. “Had Miss Moore been acting unusual lately?”
“Unusual how?”
“Changes in her emotions, her state of mind. Was she more tired than usual? More energetic?”
He tilted his head. “There were days when she seemed happier. To the extent that I wondered if she was seeing someone.”
“Did you ask her about it?”
“Once. She said that it was flattering to have two men in your life, which shocked me. I guess it showed, because she blushed and said she was talking about me and the guy who mows her lawn.”
Cass nodded slowly. “Okay, Joshua. I need to make a call. Can I use an office?”
He pointed her to the room on the right, and as she entered she realized that it was Moore’s. The woman’s diplomas and CPA certificate were displayed on the walls, along with more charcoal sketches. Cass dialed dispatch and got the number for the Greek restaurant and The Rainbow Room and called while looking closer at the artwork. Again, they were all originals and almost surreal in their execution. One revealed the pointy peaks of pine trees. Another what looked like a masked eye. Each was signed by Moore.
It took only moments for the manager of the Greek restaurant to confirm that Joshua had reservations for two at seven last night, and that he was a little late arriving. When Cass described Joshua, The Rainbow Room’s bartender confirmed that he was at the club until the wee hours of the morning. Given his bright orange hair, bushy mustache, and whip-thin body, Joshua Reed made a memorable guest.
Cass searched Moore’s desk and found a calendar. She turned to the previous day’s entries. Moore had been busy: appointments in the morning, lunch around noon, and time for admin work in the afternoon. The time slots for three-thirty onward were marked through. She opened the office door and asked for Joshua’s help. “What did Miss Moore have planned late yesterday afternoon?”
“She had an outside appointment. I didn’t tell you that?”
“Who with?”
“She didn’t say. I assumed it was a doctor’s appointment.”
Cass flipped back through the calendar and noted several other dates in the weeks leading up to her death when Moore had left early. “You said she always works late.”
He pursed his lips, the orange bristles of his mustache poking straight out at Cass, and studied the ceiling. “There have been a few times when she’s left early.”
“For what?”
Joshua shrugged. “I figured it was female maintenance.”
Cass lifted an eyebrow and he blushed.
“Like maybe she schedules all that woman stuff at the same time.” He chewed his lower lip. “Maybe not. Let me check her old calendars. We keep them in a storage room.”
Cass followed him into a narrow space lined with handmade shelves crammed with folders. Joshua lifted a cardboard box and rifled the contents. He flipped through several calendars, smoothing them open at specific dates.
“Here,” he said, pointing to a series of dates more than a year ago. He looked back several pages, indicating other dates. “She left early on these days, but didn’t say where she was going. I didn’t think anything about it, because Donna didn’t talk about personal stuff. But,” he turned to the original date, “she took three days off in March.”
“Was that vacation time?”
“Donna didn’t take vacation.”
“But these three days look like vacation.”
Joshua breathed out a long sigh. “She didn’t call it vacation. The night before she left, Donna said she had business to tend to and would be back in a few days. And she was. I mean, vacation or not, taking a few days off isn’t a crime.”
“No, it’s not. But it was unusual for her. Does Miss Moore keep her personal records here? I didn’t find any at her house.”
He pulled out another box. “Donna’s stuff for this year is in here.” A phone rang and he carried the box to the kitchen table before dashing to his desk.
Cass found the expected utility bills, property tax statements, and insurance premium notices. Moore had a hefty bank account, three jumbo certificates of deposit, and two investment accounts. No mortgages. The woman was flush. Joshua Reed would indeed benefit from the woman’s death. Cass wondered if anyone else would, as well.
“Joshua?” she called.
He poked his head into the kitchen. “Yes?”
“Where can I find a copy of Miss Moore’s will?”
“It’s probably in her safe at home.”
“Where is it?”
“There’s a picture in her office. One of her charcoals. It looks like a mountain from a science fiction movie. The safe is behind it.” He wrote a series of numbers on a sticky note and handed it to Cass.
“She did all of the art work here in the office?”
He nodded. “And in her home. Watercolors, oils, charcoals. She called it her life’s work.” Joshua glanced at a dark image, perhaps a portion of a bird’s claw, hanging in the kitchen. “Donna didn’t start painting and sketching until a few years ago. Some are kind of bleak, but I think they’re very good.”
“Me, too. What does she keep in her safe other than her will?”
Joshua shrugged. “I’ve never opened it. She gave me the combination for emergencies.”
“Are you sure you’re her only beneficiary?”
He considered her question. “No. Donna told me I was in her will, but I’ve never seen it. Since she doesn’t have any living family, I assumed I was the only one.”
She motioned to the open box. “I need to take her personal records with me, and I’ll probably have questions about some of your clients.”
“You’ll need to send somebody with a strong back. We’ve got years of stuff.”
“We’ll start with the first five, and go back from there.” She glanced up at a corner, at a motion detector. “There’s a lot of security here and at her home. Why?”
“I asked her that once, when she upgraded the office system to add motion detectors upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
“Second floor of this building. More storage. She added it to the system about five years ago. We had a problem with squirrels.” The phone rang again and he inched toward the kitchen door. “Clients are getting the news about Donna’s death. I need to take this.”
“What did she say when she added the security?”
“It was strange. Donna said that you never knew who would grab you in the night, and it was better to be safe than sorry.”
CHAPTER 48
“OOFH,” TRUMAN BREATHED, TILTING his head away from the blossom of acrid odors that rose from a bucket as he peeled its lid off.
“Disgusting,” Kado echoed. “Which one is that?”
&nbs
p; “First one from the patio,” Truman gasped, his fair skin paling.
“Close it. We’ll do that one together, later.”
Truman opened another bucket and tipped the sludge into a stainless steel pan. He smoothed down the rubber apron covering his uniform. “What now?”
Kado grimaced as he examined the goo. “Strain it. Pick through the solids, looking for anything out of place. Most of this stuff is food.” He plucked a bright red lump from the pan and placed it in a glass jar. “That’s probably tomato. Or maybe strawberry. Put food solids in a jar to thin this stuff out. You’re looking for hair, fibers, any material that doesn’t belong. Take a spoonful at a time. Okay?”
Truman nodded. “Any hits on the fingerprints?”
“One on a palm print from the gas pump.”
“Really? Is it one of our guys?”
“Unfortunately, no. Calvin Whitehead didn’t keep his pumps as clean as the inside of his store.” He turned the computer screen so Truman could see the ugly man scowling from a booking photo. “Bobby White.”
“Wow. He’s been in the penitentiary for how long?”
“It says he transferred from county about six months ago.”
“That’s a shame,” the young officer commented, extracting a curved piece of jar containing a Smucker’s label. “He’s the one who set his grandma’s house on fire to get her insurance money.”
Kado balked. “Property insurance?”
“And life. She was inside when he lit the match. Bobby White has enough mean in him to barbeque Whitehead. Anybody else?”
“There were quite a few prints on the countertop near the cash register, but none of them hit. I’ve got more cards from behind the counter to scan.”
The door to the evidence room bumped open and Munk backed inside, carrying boxes of files. He looked over his shoulder at Kado. “From the Franklin house. Where do you want them?”
“How many?”
“Seventeen.”
“What is it with people and paper? Did you label them?”
Munk glared.
“Okay, yeah, sorry,” Kado said. “Put them in the conference room, away from Calvin Whitehead’s boxes so we don’t mix them up.”
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