by Alan Chaput
Patricia’s jaw dropped. All her notes on the case were in those files. Facts. Speculation. Assignments. Suspects.
Everything.
Chapter 21
Father John took the elevator down to the hotel parking garage, hobbled to a dark corner, and got in the cargo compartment of his van. He switched on a dim light at the desk, inserted one of the copied security DVDs from Meredith’s bank parking lot into the player and, after hooking his cane over the side of the desk, sat.
He reviewed the discs for a couple of hours before taking a break. Studying DVDs was tedious work he normally farmed out, but being under time pressure he was doing this particular review work himself.
Slouched at the desk in the back of his van, he massaged the back of his neck. Though an impressive array of classified electronics filled the wall, he focused on nothing more than the monitor while he toggled yet another security DVD forward and backward.
Suddenly he straightened. His heart sped as he froze the video on a black truck that had entered the right side of the view and stopped in the shadows of the shaded parking lot. He zoomed in on the vehicle’s front end. A heavy-duty grill was mounted on the bumper. Father John whistled. This guy sure came prepared to do some serious damage.
Curiosity battled excitement as Father John advanced the video frame by frame, but the truck remained stationary in the lot. Growing impatient, Father John upped the display speed to half motion. A moment later, Meredith’s car entered the view from the other side. Father John stretched his stiff neck as his experienced mind devoured the scene. This clip had to be just moments before the head-on collision, but the two vehicles remained positioned on each edge of the screen like boxers awaiting the bell.
Save for the two vehicles, the portion of the parking lot in view was desolate. He scratched his head as Meredith’s car backed up and went off the monitor. The black truck slowly followed. As it passed in front of the camera, Father John froze the frame and zoomed in on the driver’s open window, noting the driver, a man, and the silhouette of a passenger.
Father John slid channeled levers on the console back and forth until the picture sharpened to reveal a useable profile of a man in his twenties. Father John captured the image, sent it to his printer, then emailed it to the Vatican Security Bureau for facial recognition.
Next, he repositioned the view on the passenger, but even with enhancement could only obtain a heavily shadowed image of a woman of indeterminate age. He saved that image and sent it to the printer. The image was too vague for facial recognition.
The truck exited the view to the left, affording Father John no chance to get the license number. He ejected the disc and inserted the last security DVD, one that covered an exit, hoping the new viewing angle would record the actual event, or at least the truck’s plate number.
No such luck. Ten minutes later, Father John gave a frustrated sigh and removed the last DVD. Hopefully the driver’s photo would get a match on the church’s facial recognition program.
* * *
Patricia sat at the kitchen table, her head resting between her hands and her eyes closed. The criminal was free and well ahead of her. Simon had verified someone had accessed her files last night. How Simon had accomplished that was a mystery to her.
No one, to her knowledge, had ever invaded her computer before. She had her laptop security checked by a tech who visited her home monthly. The tech, like Simon, would have known.
There could be only one reason someone would open her files now—to see what she was up to. The only person who would need that kind of information would be the one who had killed Mama and attacked Meredith and her. Someone who had deduced that Meredith had colleagues. Smart of them to figure that out. Equally smart to get into her computer.
The killer would not only have her knowledge, he’d have her plans. He could block her progress by compromising sources or setting traps for her and her colleagues, and eliminating them.
So it was time to change the plan. But how?
She stood and paced. Meredith had been following the money and damn near got killed. Following the money was out.
What approach would the killer be unaware of?
The truck’s license. She hadn’t put that information into her laptop database. The license was the one path the killer didn’t know about. So far.
Her phone sounded. She unlocked the screen and glanced at the display. Bishop Thomas Reilly. “Could you come around later today?” he said. “Perhaps three or so? I have a matter to discuss with you.”
Simon walked into the kitchen with his phone to his ear. “Have him come here,” he whispered in her bad ear. “It’s safer.”
“Thomas, with Meredith’s shooting I’m reluctant to go out,” she told the bishop.
“I understand. Might I stop by at three?”
“Yes indeed.”
After she completed the call, she turned to Simon. “Do you get all my calls?”
“Afraid so.”
“Inbound and outbound?”
“Yep.” He set his lips.
“Hmmm. No privacy?”
He shook his head. “None from me.”
“By the way, did you track down the truck license plate yet?”
He smiled. “Can’t say.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“I know it’s hard being isolated like this, but a surprisingly large number of murders are committed by someone who knows the victim. We’re working on the assumption that if the murderer knew your mother, it’s likely they know you as well. So, we’re being very careful about who gets close to you.”
She nodded. It made sense, but it didn’t please her at all. She went to the window and looked out at the backyard, her black thoughts blocking her full appreciation of the pink azaleas in bloom.
She needed freedom and privacy to pursue leads. She wasn’t going to get that at home or on her phone. She turned and faced Simon. “Trey arranged a chauffeur/bodyguard. Am I free to visit friends?”
“Sure, just not as many friends nor as often as in the past. And only if the people you visit pass our security standards.” He took out a sterling cable bracelet remarkably similar to the John Hardy designs she preferred and handed it to her. “This is a tracking bracelet just in case your bodyguard is compromised.”
She shivered. “Killed?”
Simon, grim-faced, nodded. “Not likely. But we have contingency plans for everything we can imagine.”
She looked the bracelet over. “It’s a nice piece of jewelry.”
“We don’t want to advertise that you’re wearing a tracking device.”
She slipped it on. “Y’all think of everything.”
“Anticipation is an important part of our job. Now, who do you want to visit?”
“To start with, Meredith, Alisa and Judy. Add Sheila down at the corner florist, Nancy at The French Bakery, and Bishop Reilly.”
“I’m working on Bishop Reilly right now so you can meet him at three. I can probably clear the others within an hour.”
“Did you clear Rhett?”
“You bet. He came back as clean as a whistle.”
That was good. She kind of liked the man. “Where’s he from?”
“Can’t say.”
From the sealed-off look on Simon’s face, she could see that there was no point in trying to go any further. Rhett’s mystery would remain for her to solve later.
* * *
Willie entered the café and immediately spotted a person matching the photo he had received with the email invitation. Creepy white skin. Combed-back black hair. Thick black brows. A huge angular chin that looked like a ship’s prow. As Willie approached, the massive man rose. The giant’s knuckles were thick with scar tissue. Imagine the stories this guy could tell. Willie prayed he wouldn’t be one of them.
With as much nonchalance as he could muster, Willie looked up at the man towering over him and met the giant’s stony gaze.
“My boss require you for matter of gre
at importance,” the man said in a strangely strangled voice.
Willie had heard that line before. It usually meant someone wanted to plant a story, which wasn’t always bad, but required caution. After all, any story Willie released carried his by-line, and he didn’t want to lose credibility with the public.
“What’s in it for me?” Willie kept his voice level. There was no need to show eagerness.
“You get story,” the man said with an odd accent Willie couldn’t place. Perhaps Eastern European, but he wasn’t sure.
“What’s the story about?” Willie asked.
The big man smirked and shook his head.
“I’ll need more details before I agree, and the facts have to check out.”
The man gave a half-hearted smile and nodded. “My employer will answer all your questions. He is expecting us. We go?”
The question sounded more like a command than an invitation, but with an important story at hand Willie didn’t hesitate to nod.
The giant pointed to the door. “Car outside.”
Willie followed the massive man to where a silver stretch limo was parked. A uniformed chauffeur stood at the open door. As soon as Willie and his guide entered, the door slammed shut. Moments later, the limo eased into traffic and accelerated. The air conditioning in the limo was so cold his breath clouded in the glacial air.
The giant gestured to the bar and raised an eyebrow. “You want drink?”
Why did all the guy’s questions sound like commands? Willie nodded.
“Vodka?”
Though this question also sounded like a command, Willie’s stomach wasn’t ready for vodka. “Just some soda water.”
The man handed him a cut-crystal tumbler with ice and club soda.
Willie took a long sip, put the glass in the cup holder, and pulled out a Tiparillo.
The giant sneered.
“Just gonna chew on it.”
The man gave a smirk. Why did everything the guy do seem so intimidating?
“If you don’t mind me asking, where are we going?”
“Airport.”
Willie straightened. He hadn’t anticipated that.
“Not to worry, my little friend. Quick trip.”
Willie settled back, rolled the Tiparillo to the other side of his mouth, and watched the city flicker by. An exclusive story of great importance was just what his career needed.
Chapter 22
When the front door chimes sounded at three, Patricia’s nerves skittered like startled shrimp on the seabed. With Simon in the lead, she went to the foyer and stood to the side while Simon opened the door. She took the secluded moment to straighten her khaki shirtdress.
Bishop Thomas Reilly, dressed in black pants, black shirt and a Roman collar, stepped in. His bishop’s cross hung from his neck on a simple chain.
Simon blocked Thomas from going further. “One final security check, your Excellency.”
Once Simon had run the security wand over the bishop’s torso, Thomas and Patricia retreated to the sitting room in the back of the house.
“Would you care for something to drink, Thomas?”
“A bit of iced tea, if it’s no trouble.”
In the kitchen, she filled two glasses with ice and the sweet tea she had brewed specifically for him, then placed the glasses on a sterling tray along with a plate of shortbread cookies. Back in the sitting room, she placed the tray on the coffee table and gestured for him to sit. When they were both seated, she passed him the tea and offered the cookies.
He took a bite of cookie, smiled so deeply his dimples creased, and asked, “Irish?”
She nodded.
“Aye. Ireland forever.” He took another bite, then wiped his lips with a napkin. “You’ve been through so much, my dear. How are you holding up?”
Memories flooded her—Mama, Meredith and the truck trying to ram her SUV. Acid etched Patricia’s stomach. She snapped her eyes closed, but the unwanted images persisted. She exhaled a long breath. “I’d be most grateful if you kept my family in your prayers.”
“I’m sure the murder of your mother and disappearance of her assets is a lot to take.”
“It’s been difficult.”
“That’s why I came over. Henrietta was a wonderful woman, an angel. An unlikely candidate for murder. Henrietta loved the church, and we want justice for her. Because we look at situations through a different lens than Chief Patrick, we might find something critical to the case he hasn’t seen.”
“Does Chief Patrick know what you’re doing?”
“Of course.”
“You’re here on his behalf?”
“No. Mine. The church’s.”
Apparently she hadn’t realized the depth of Mama’s relationship with the church. Mama was generous, no doubt about that. But for a bishop to take personal interest in identifying her killer? Who would have guessed? And Thomas, as intelligent as he was, was no murder investigator. Of course, what did she know of the resources available to him? Mind-boggling. Absolutely mind-boggling.
Intrigued, but unwilling to speak openly in the house, she gestured to the backyard. “Would you like to see my azaleas?”
Though he had a surprised look, he stood.
She led him to the back door, turned off the security alarm, and opened the door.
Patricia went to a concrete bench under a thick arbor in a secluded far corner and sat. The tangled jasmine arbor and brick walls gave a sense of privacy, which was why she and Trey had created the haven. Since Hayley had left for college, they hadn’t used it at all. The brick walls kept the street noise and the gawking tourists out. The arbor provided shade. “There’s more privacy out here,” she told Thomas. “How can I help?”
“Where was Henrietta’s money before it disappeared?” he said quietly as he settled on the bench.
“Meredith’s bank.”
“That’s not surprising. She thought highly of Meredith. Henrietta found great comfort in doing business with her closest friends. Do you have any idea where Henrietta’s money went?”
If Thomas followed the same path as Meredith, would he meet the same fate ... or worse? A chill went through her. If Thomas died pursuing Mama’s killer, she’d never forgive herself. But, not telling him could mean walking away from major help in finding the killer.
“You know something, don’t you?” His voice was soft, his tone understanding.
“I suppose.”
“You can speak in confidence.”
“It’s not that, Thomas. I know I can trust you.”
“Then what is it, Patricia?”
“This is a deadly situation. I’m concerned about your safety if you pursue the matter any further. Meredith was tracing Mama’s money, and now she’s in the hospital, lucky to be alive.” She gestured around her. “Look at me. Because there’s a killer out there, I’m imprisoned in my own home.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I can assure you the resources at my disposal are perfectly capable of protecting me,” he said firmly.
She leaned forward. “You live unencumbered. Anyone can visit your office. You walk and drive the streets alone. That’s hardly a high level of security.”
“I’m not going to discuss the details of my personal security with you, but I’m comfortable with them.” He raised his eyebrows. “Surely that must mean something to you.”
It did, but involving him still troubled her. She’d seen what the criminal had done to poor Meredith. She pushed away the anxiety the thought caused. On the other hand, nothing was going to change until the killer was apprehended. And the more resources on the case the better.
Suddenly, certainty came. She supposed it was intuition. There was no other way to explain it. She had to tell Thomas about Meredith’s findings. After that, she’d close down like an oyster at low tide.
“How far did Meredith get in tracing the money?”
“Far enough to get shot.”
“She found the money?” His voice had an edge to i
t.
“Those were Meredith’s last words so, on the face of it, I suppose so.”
“You were with her when she was shot?”
“No.” The memory prickled her, inducing nausea. “I was on the phone with her.”
“You’ve told the police?”
“Not yet, but Chief Patrick wants to talk with me.”
“He’s not going to be happy that Meredith took the law into her own hands. But I can understand why you asked her to. Did Meredith tell you where the money is?”
“She had traced the funds to a major bank in Hong Kong and then back to a private bank on Hilton Head Island. A bank she’d never heard of.”
“So, the money is on Hilton Head Island?”
“She wasn’t sure. She said it could have been transferred elsewhere after arriving on Hilton Head Island. She was searching for an insider at the Hilton Head Island institution who might help her.”
“I’m guessing she found one?”
She exchanged glances with him. “I suppose so since she told me she found the money.”
“Do you have any suspicions about who’s behind the theft?”
She shook her head.
“None at all?” he asked.
“Well, Sonny’s disappearance is strangely coincidental.”
“Sonny?”
“Sonny Carothers. Mama’s accountant.”
“Did she have trouble with Sonny?”
“Not that I know of. In fact, she was quite found of him.”
“Did he handle most of her money?”
“All of it.”
He rubbed his chin. “Was Henrietta satisfied with his financial management?”
“Thomas, you know Mama. She was always striving, never satisfied, but she’d never complain.”
“What was the problem?”
“Earnings. Each quarter she always was positive regardless of what the markets did. And she had no clue why.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
She arched her shoulders. “She was obsessed with him.”
“Romantically?”