by Alan Chaput
She tried the original images file. The folder was empty. She tried the trash bin. It had been cleaned out. Sensing Beau had recently purged his computer of anything that might compromise him, she checked the electronic calendar she had copied earlier. It too had been wiped clean.
She knew Beau was meticulous and kept files on everything. Flying blind was not in his nature. He hadn’t erased anything. He’d just moved it somewhere else. But where?
Judy checked the web browser’s favorites. Nothing unusual there. Then she clicked the browser’s history file to see where Beau had visited in the past couple of days. She sighed. It had been cleared out.
Perhaps he had copied the photos to a DVD or a flash drive. She rummaged his desk looking for one and found nothing. But she did stumble on a short, alphabetic list of websites, usernames, and passwords on a three-by-five card in his pencil drawer.
A half hour later she’d found and deleted all copies of the seven incriminating photos. And she’d printed out the calendar, address files and financial information he’d removed from his computer and tried to hide on the web.
Satisfied, she returned the password card to the drawer and stood to leave.
Oh no. Thank God she remembered. The computer’s history log would show the browser had been to all the file locations tonight. That wouldn’t do. She deleted the history files, shut down his computer, wiped her fingerprints from the keyboard, and left.
Now Beau would have nothing on her, and she could sue him for a divorce and support. Preston would be happy and, with his legal expertise, helpful.
With just a few keystrokes, she’d screwed them both. One financially, the other passionately.
Chapter 13
Tuesday morning, the morning Patricia usually had breakfast with her mom, seemed bittersweet. For the first time in several nights, she’d slept soundly. Though still filled with grief, she’d awakened rested and eager to learn what her friends had unearthed about Sonny and her mother.
Trey had been bright and cheerful over breakfast. He left home seemingly looking forward to his day.
Hayley was back in school for the semester, and had called to let Patricia know she’d made it back to Atlanta without incident. That disaster had been averted, if only temporarily. Trey, her rock, had worked his magic once again. Sure, he could use lethal force when necessary, but he could also charm with equal effectiveness.
Shortly after Trey had left, Rhett had shown up to prune the foundation shrubs. A couple of hours later, Patricia took him some water. As he drank from the bottle, she gestured to one of the trimmed shrubs. “You seem to have a talent for shaping the bushes naturally.”
“Thank you.” He took another large gulp of water then screwed the cap on and put the bottle on a patio table. “Could you do me a favor, Mrs. Falcon?”
“Depends on what it is.”
“Your husband is a lawyer, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Could you set up a meeting for me and him?”
“He’s a busy man.”
“Wouldn’t take but five minutes.”
“Do you need a lawyer, Rhett?”
“Actually, I need some advice.”
“About what? As I said, my husband is a busy man. Maybe someone else could better advise you.”
“It’s really personal, Mrs. Falcon.”
“Five minutes?”
Rhett nodded.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Patricia went inside and called Trey, who accepted the five-minute appointment for later in the day. Patricia went back outside and found Rhett. “Meeting with my husband at three this afternoon.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Falcon.” Rhett wiped sweat from his brow. “By the way, last night just after two there was a black pickup truck parked at your curb. Someone was sitting in the cab. When I went over to ask what they were doing they drove off.”
“Did you get a license number?”
Rhett looked down. “No ma’am.”
“If you see the truck again, get the number. There’s no telling—”
The ringing of her cell phone startled her. It was Judy.
“I have to take this,” Patricia said as she headed back inside.
“Bad news,” Judy said. “The paper trail on Sonny is surprisingly monotonous.”
Patricia sighed. “Bring every shred you have to our lunch meeting. When we get everything together, some of the dull, insignificant bits might take on greater significance.”
“I sure hope so ‘cause what I found doesn’t add up to much.”
Alisa called Patricia shortly after citing car trouble that had interfered with a couple of key meetings.
Patricia encouraged her to continue checking people right up to the lunch meeting.
It was the call from Meredith that put Patricia over the edge. Because of an unscheduled bank audit, Meredith had gotten nothing done on the case. It was as if God had decreed that Mama’s murderer would have a get out of jail free card for the past eighteen hours. That just wouldn’t do.
She called everyone and postponed the lunch meeting until the next day. Once done, she ran her fingers through her hair. What had she overlooked? Twisting a strand in her fingertips, a thought gelled. Mama was gone, but her hair remained. Hair in her hairbrush. Hair that would hold traces of her medicines and possibly of a foreign substance.
* * *
Trey’s office intercom beeped.
He acknowledged the call.
“Mr. Rhett Putnam is here to see you.”
“Show him in.” Trey stood and buttoned his jacket.
The office door opened. Rhett, dressed in clean jeans and a fresh blue work shirt, filled the doorway.
Trey couldn’t help but notice the strange and yet almost endearing look on the man’s face as he approached him. And when Trey took Rhett’s hand, he thought it odd Rhett cupped Trey’s hand with both of his. Trey gestured to the set of high-back leather chairs arranged around the glass coffee table. Rhett took one, Trey the other. The receptionist hovered.
“Would you care for some coffee?” Trey asked.
Rhett nodded as his fingers traced the brass rivets clamping the leather to the oak frame of the chair.
As soon as the receptionist left for the coffee, Trey said, “Patsy and I are quite impressed with your work around the yard.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Please call me Trey.”
Rhett smiled. “Thank you, Trey.”
“Are you new to the city?”
Rhett, apparently a man a few words, nodded.
“Planning to stay?”
“Don’t rightly know. Might. Might not.”
“We’d be pleased if you’d tend the yard for as long as you’re here.”
“My pleasure, sir. Ah, Trey.”
The receptionist returned with the coffee and left.
“You asked for this meeting, Rhett. Patricia said you were very insistent, and yet you wouldn’t give her a subject. Normally I require a subject, but you had a great ambassador in Patricia. What is it you wanted to talk about?”
Rhett sat like a mannequin for a long second, staring at Trey. Then he squirmed in his chair, leaning forward. “This.” Rhett pulled a folded plastic sleeve from his rear pocket and eyed it for a second, as if the object had great worth, before extending the mystery item toward Trey.
The folder contained a letter on old Falcon Law stationary. The letter was dated ten years previous and was addressed to Kira Putnam at an address in Virginia. It was signed by Trey and appeared to be one of the standard cover letters he used for sending money to the foster parents of the children Henrietta had supported. All seemed to be in order. “What do you want to know about this letter?”
Rhett pushed back his long black hair. “Kira is ... was my mother. Why were you sending her money?”
“Give me a moment,” Trey said. He stood, went to his computer, and brought up the master file on Henrietta’s wards. All twenty of them. As he had suspected, Rhet
t was one of the twenty, and Kira Putnam was his foster mother. Trey returned to the chair and sat. He sipped coffee as he studied Rhett, then said, “Henrietta Snyder, my mother-in-law, was a kind and generous woman. One of her many acts of kindness was to provide financial aid for a number of orphans from the rural areas of Virginia. When Henrietta moved to Savannah, she asked me to handle the monthly distributions, which kept her participation anonymous. You are one of the children she provided for.”
Rhett nodded. He looked like he was about to ask a question, but he remained silent.
“Is this letter why you came to Savannah?”
“Yes.”
“Are you satisfied?”
“I had hoped to find out who my father was.”
“Ah.” Trey glanced away. “I think I understand. Did you think I was your father? Is that why you’re here? Because I was sending your mother money?”
“Yes, sir.” Rhett rubbed his hands together.
Trey reached out and clutched Rhett’s hands. “I’m very sorry, Rhett, but I was just providing a service for a lovely and generous Southern lady. I’d guess you’d have to go back to Virginia to get more information about your dad.”
* * *
“Preston, honey, I found and deleted all the digital copies of seven compromising photos of us in your bed.” Judy shifted the phone to her other ear. “All the photos are from the same angle and were taken the same day, though with considerable time between the shots.” As she talked she scanned the kitchen for a hidden camera. Anyone who would sneak a camera into Preston’s bedroom could just as easily have put one in her kitchen. Paranoid? Sure. A normal reaction.
“What angle were the photos from?” he asked. “I’ll look for the camera tonight.”
Was her phone or computer bugged? Just to be safe she should buy a new phone. One identical to her current phone so Beau wouldn’t notice the switch. Probably buy a new computer too. And she’d change her passwords as soon as she got off the phone. There was no telling how far Beau’s investigation of her had gone.
“Judy, what angle?” Preston’s clipped words signaled agitation.
“If the camera is still there, it’s probably hidden in something on top of your dresser.”
“Thanks. I’ll check. Can’t have any more pictures turn up. Any idea what day the photos were taken?”
“According to the photo properties data, they were taken a week ago. Friday afternoon.”
“Interesting.”
“How?”
“I had a party Thursday night.”
A chill ripped through her. “That narrows the list of suspects.”
“I’ll say. Beau wasn’t there, but several of my guests that night are chums with Beau.”
She debated how to reply. She’d slept with many of Beau’s chums and, given the secrets she knew about each, she questioned if any would risk alienating her. But the camera planter might reasonably assume his participation would remain a secret. “So what do we do next?”
“If the camera isn’t there, we’ll know someone removed it, presumably the person who put it there in the first place. I can’t imagine Beau involving two people in this. He’d want to keep the number of conspirators to as few as possible. So, if there’s no camera I’ll draw up a list of who’s been in my home since the party and run that against the party list. Voila. Our culprit.”
“What then?”
“I’ll confront the informant, turn him to our side, and unleash him on Beau.”
She laughed at the thought of Beau being badgered by his own helper.
Preston didn’t.
* * *
Trey closed the back door of the Coalition meetinghouse, waited for the electronic deadbolt to engage and, steadying himself with the rail, descended the stone stairs to the secure basement meeting room.
How many times had he gone down the stairs to find solutions to insurmountable problems? At the foot of the stairs, murmurs replaced the silence. He stepped into the room, crossed to the table, and shook hands with each man. Each revealed his present state of mind in his response. Touch. Tone. Expression. Each seemed eager. That pleased Trey.
“Shall we start?” he asked, then sat in his designated chair. “Beau, what do you have on the medical situation?”
“I’ve spoken with our pharmacist contact. He can find no record of any pharmaceuticals being sold to Henrietta Snyder other than those I’ve prescribed.”
“Potter, how are you coming at reconstructing her activities that day?”
“She seems to have been at home alone all morning until she left to visit her Patricia, then went to her club to play tennis with Judy Simpson, whom she played with each week at the same time. Henrietta spoke with the pro shop professional before the match and had a late lunch with Judy after the match. She had no other contacts that I could determine. Club security cameras fix the timing of her arrival and departure.”
“Do we have copies of those videos?”
Potter nodded.
“Have Beau look at them to see if he can notice anything unusual about her behavior.”
“Will do.” Potter consulted his computer. “Our TSA contact says Sonny’s name isn’t on any recent commercial flight manifests and Immigration has no record of him recently passing out or into the country. Buses and trains equally negative. Though, with the amount of money available to him, he could easily travel undetected anywhere.”
“What do you have, Alton?”
“Chief Patrick says Sonny’s car is in his garage and his bank accounts were emptied shortly before Henrietta’s death. Police investigators found Sonny’s passport in his safety deposit box, and there has been no activity on his credit cards or cell phone since early the day of Henrietta’s death. Chief Patrick suspects Sonny is no longer with us.”
“I’ll believe that when I see his corpse,” Trey said. “Relatives?”
“None living.”
“Hempfield, what do you have on Sonny’s activities at work?”
“Facial recognition of security footage indicates Sonny has recently associated with Russian organized crime figures. Analysis of his books indicates three are clients. All three clients visited during the week before Henrietta’s death.”
“Do we have any relationship with those Russians?” Trey asked.
“We’re in negotiations with one of them over using a warehouse on the wharf, though the negotiations are bogged down.”
“See if our negotiator can shed any light on Sonny.”
“Right.”
“Okay. Good work. Keep digging,” Trey said. “Same time tomorrow.”
Chapter 14
The rising sun shimmered on the calm ocean. Standing at the back of the boat with Trey, Patricia twisted the urn’s lid. She placed the top on the starboard bench and, with a slight catch in her voice, prayed. “Dear Lord, bless these final remnants of Mama.”
Once the ashes in the urn were merged with the salt water, Mama would only exist in spirit. Not gone. How could she ever be gone when she lived so vividly in memory?
An old conversation with her mother came to mind. “I want to die on a tennis court, not in some God-awful hospital bed.”
Well, Mama, you almost got that wish.
Then there was the time last month when they’d walked on the beach and watched sea worm castings being erased by the waves. Her mother had pondered how transient life was that day. A premonition?
Patricia’s wedding came to mind. Mama had doted on her and had been so happy. Now her mother wouldn’t be able to dote at Hayley’s wedding, whenever that occurred. How could Mama be gone?
A recent conversation with her mother surfaced. Mama had pushed her to give more back to Savannah, to provide more plentifully for the unfortunate. A tear rolled down Patricia’s cheek as she thought of her mother’s generosity. Her eagerness to help, to serve. Mama was as giving as they came. She was always helping others, always giving time, money and love. She’d changed so many lives with her generosity.
>
With her back to the wind, Patricia shook the gray powder into the breeze and watched the dust dissolve into the ocean’s surface.
“Goodbye, Mama.” Not really goodbye. It was goodbye to remnants, not to memory. Mama would live in memory for all eternity.
Patricia stooped at the transom and washed out the last flakes from the urn. Cleansed of Mama’s dust, the container no longer had any significance. Now it was just a cheap plastic urn destined for the garbage bin. The urn had been precious with Mama’s ashes. Emptied, it was useless.
She put the container into her backpack, nodded to Trey, and sat on the bench, her face turned to the rising sun. The inboard engine started up, heralding her return to reality, to normalcy. If there was such a thing.
Trey popped the cork on a bottle of Henrietta’s favorite champagne and they toasted her dear Mama.
* * *
Father John sat in silence as Bishop Reilly, prelate of St. Gregory’s, read the papal encyclical. The bishop’s empty alabaster face gave no hint of his reaction, even as he finished reading and removed his glasses. He glanced down at the reading glasses, idly turning them from side to side, then let out a breath and looked up. “Mrs. Snyder’s untimely death troubles us all.” His voice resonated from deep in his chest. “Naturally we will cooperate fully with your investigation.”
“Thank you, your Excellency. I’d like to speak with her confessor.”
“I’m her confessor.”
“Do you know if anyone in particular would want her dead?”
The bishop folded his hands. His eyes never left Father John’s face. “I know of no one who would want her dead.”
“Did she have any enemies?”
“I wouldn’t say she had enemies, though there are some who concerned her.”
“Concern, or fear.”
“Closer to troubled her, though she feared a few.”
“I’ll need a list.”
His brow furrowed. “Now?”
The papal encyclical was clear on the matter. Everything was to be made available. “If you don’t mind, your Excellency.”