Dying for the Past

by T. J. O'Connor

  Spence nodded.

  “Then you get it. I’m a paranormal investigator.”

  “A paranoid investigator?” I tapped the EMF meter and made it convulse. “There’s money in it?”

  “Paranormal,” Bear corrected and drew an awkward glance from Spence. “Where’s the rest of your equipment?”

  Chevy raised an eyebrow. “Rest of what? You got my cameras and meters and recorders. And I want them all back. What else is there?”

  “The recordings,” Spence said. “Your video and audio recordings, Chevez. You’re looking at some serious time for murdering those two stiffs in the tunnel. We haven’t even talked about Stephanos Grecco’s murder yet.”

  Chevy jumped up, crashed into the table, and knocked two of his cameras on the floor. “Murder? No man, no way. You can’t hook me on no murders. No way. No.” Bear grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. “Come on, detectives, I’m just trying to make a livin’.”

  “Oh, yeah? You worked the gala under an assumed name and sneaked out after Grecco’s murder.” Bear jabbed an iron finger into Chevy’s shoulder. “Then you attempted to break into Angela Tucker’s house and did God knows what we haven’t found yet. Tonight, you shot at her, and we had two bodies at your feet when we found you.” Bear turned to Spence. “What do you think, Spence?”

  Spence smiled. “The needle for sure.”

  “Needle? Come on, man, no.” Chevy dropped his head into his hands and sat thinking for a long time. When he looked up, his eyes were red and his dark skin pale. “Look, I didn’t kill anyone—nobody. I don’t even know the Grecco-dude. I was hired to wire up the house and keep tabs on everybody. Since I was there, I added a few tricks of my own for the ghost-chasing TV show—big money maybe. But I had to get my stuff back. So, tonight, I went into the house through one tunnel and went back out through another. I didn’t see any bodies. And I told you, the lady shot at—”

  “No,” Bear slammed his hand on the table so hard the ghost meters bounced and started chirping. “Her gun wasn’t fired. There are two bodies and the stolen donations where we found you. You know an awful lot about the tunnels and secret rooms that no one else does. It’s murder, plain and simple—”

  “No, no … okay. Just wait.”

  “We’re listening.” Spence leaned over his shoulder again. “But not for long.”

  “Look, I’m a vet, man—a Marine. I did my time in the sand and in Afghanistan. I ain’t gonna kill anymore. I was doing this job for this guy and things went bad. I got caught up in it. Help me out, man, help me out.”

  “Help you out? Help yourself out, Chevez. We have three bodies and your name is on them. The Commonwealth’s attorney will go for capital murder—the needle, Chevez.”

  The words “capital murder” caught Chevy’s breath and sent a wave of angst across his face. He gripped the interview table until his knuckles turned white, looking from Spence to Bear—mouth open, trying to summon words that weren’t forming.

  When resignation restored the color to his face, he said, “See, this guy, a smooth-talking dude, hired me to watch Professor Tucker.”

  Bear beat me to the punch, “What are you talking about? What guy?”

  “A guy, man. Just a guy.” Chevy shrugged. “It’s about Professor Tucker, man. I wired her office and house and watched her everywhere she went. You know, to get everything on camera. Four grand down, four more when I’m done.”

  “Who?” I yelled. The EMF meter erupted. “Who’s after Angel?”

  Bear pounded the table. “A name.”

  “I dunno who, man, I swear. Emails and cell calls. Nothing else.”

  “Bullshit,” Spence said. “You took four thousand over email?”

  Chevy tapped the table beside his cell phone. “Check for yourself. He’s using a burner phone. I don’t like taking jobs blind, but I need the cash, man—bad. The PI biz is slow and I’m hurting. The ghost-chasing show offered me some fast money if I got video inside the Vincent place. So I double-dipped. The other guy—the one wanting Professor Tucker followed—he’d never know.”

  “He’s using a burner phone?” Spence grabbed Chevy’s cell phone and left the room. “You better not be lying, Chevez.”

  “Check my computer, too. You’ll see, I kept the emails in case I got jammed up.”

  “You’re not as dumb as I thought,” Bear sneered.

  “You’re funny, man, but I ain’t laughin’.” Chevy took the rest of his coffee in one gulp and stared at the ceiling for answers that weren’t written there. “I checked the dude’s IP address. It’s a dead end. Maybe you can get more. And yeah, I was at the Vincent House when the Grecco dude was hit. When all that was going down, I went to the attic, grabbed a couple flash drives and hid out. Soon as I could, I split. Then I went to the university while the Tucker lady was still at the party.”

  Bear asked, “You bugged her office? What’s all this about?”

  “The man didn’t say. All he said was he wanted everything I could get—leverage or something. For eight grand, I don’t care why.”

  “No? What if it’s about murder, Chevez?” Bear said. “You’re messing with my friend and Tuck’s wife. He won’t be happy.”

  I put a hand on Chevy’s EMF meter and it went off the charts. “I’m not happy, Chevy.”

  “Don’t be talking angry spirit stuff, man. Ghost chasing is just about money. I never got any evidence before this. I didn’t even believe in ghosts. But, watching the lady professor … she’s a believer, I can tell. You all are spooky, man. Just too spooky.”

  “Is that why you went to her house?” Bear asked.

  “Yeah, I was trying to get some video of her in the house, but her big ferocious dog almost ate me.”

  “Hercule is funny about burglars. You’re lucky.”

  “Lucky?”

  “If I had been there, I would have let him have you.” Bear stood up and went to the door. “Where are the videos?”

  Chevy’s face tightened. “I gave some to the guy.”

  “Some? How if you don’t know him?”

  “I left them at a dead drop in Old Town. He was there but I never saw him. He called me after I left and said he wanted more info and wanted the rest of the recordings, too.”

  I said, “Bear, he made copies. I’m sure of it. If he’s an abnormal investigator—”

  “Paranormal,” he corrected.

  “Yeah, paranormal. If he is, he needed copies to sell to the TV show.”

  Bear repeated my thoughts and watched Chevy from the doorway. “Where are the copies?”

  “I got copies, sure, of course,” Chevy said, folding his arms. “And other stuff, too. Recordings, photographs, before and after the party. It’s gonna cost you. You know I ain’t lying, Detective. And you know I didn’t kill nobody. So, it’s gonna cost you.”

  Bear never touched the ground until he landed on Chevy. He ripped him out of his chair, slammed him against the wall, and pinned him there, dangling a foot off the floor. “You want a deal? You little turd, I’ll give you a deal. You tell me everything or you’re going down for capital murder—after you get out of the hospital.”

  “Immunity, man. I want immunity for anything I did at the house and with the professor lady.” Chevy’s eyes were round and his face ash. He grabbed Bear’s wrists and tried to wrestle himself free—he failed. “I can’t lose my PI license, man. I can’t. Just give me a pass.”

  Bear let go and Chevy crashed to the floor onto his knees. Bear smiled, extended his hand to help him to his feet, and said, “Oh, heck, I think I can work that, Chevy. Let’s hear what you have to trade?”

  “Come on, man, you’re crazy.”

  “Talk.”

  Chevy stood but stayed close to the wall. “I’ll help you catch this guy, okay? I’ll lure him into a trap or something. And I’ll give you the originals of what I recorded at the Vincent place, too. But I want my cameras and recorders and everything back and I keep copies of the house video for the TV show—n
ot the lady professor, but the other stuff.”

  “Maybe. What about the van and the bodies?”

  “No, man, no—I ain’t involved with no bodies. I saw you guys watching the front and rear of the Vincent House, so I came in through one of the other houses by a tunnel—they’re all over the place down there. Then, when I reached the Vincent House, I heard somebody inside so I ran to the basement and tried to get back out. The professor-lady was in the other tunnel—I heard her—and when I opened the basement entrance, she shot at me. I shot back and ran upstairs. But, you guys were there and I had no choice and went back down. I never saw the bodies and no money until you told me they were there. Honest. I swear.”

  Bear took it all in and studied Chevy, looking for the lie. So did I and neither of us were sure there was one. I said, “Bear, I think he’s telling the truth. It would make sense. He was in the house ahead of us. The van came to the estate later and whoever was in it was down in the tunnels between Chevy and Angel. If the van isn’t his or a partner’s—and I don’t think it is—then he didn’t kill anyone.”

  “How so?” Bear ignored Chevy’s stare. “Maybe he and a partner were moving the bodies?”

  “No man, I told you, not me.”

  I said, “I think he’s telling the truth. Whoever killed Petya and Grecco’s killer came in the van to move the bodies. Chevy and Angel got in the way. That’s who shot at them.”

  “Yeah, Grecco’s killer—we gotta ID him.” Bear went to the interview room door and opened it, turned back, and aimed a finger at Chevy. “I’ll get you some more coffee with lots of sugar. And maybe some breakfast, too. You start writing down every little thing you forgot. We’ll go through this one last time. And if there’s a comma out of place, it’s eggs and capital murder for you. Got it?”

  Chevy nodded. “Extra bacon.”

  “Right.”

  “And pancakes—lots of syrup.”

  Bear slammed the door behind him.

  Chevy breathed a heavy sigh and sat at the interview room table, checking his cameras and equipment. He picked up a small, thin, digital recorder and flipped it on. “You guys better not have busted my stuff. Testing, testing—”

  “Boo, Chevy,” I said, leaning in close and making the EMF meter dance and flicker. “I’m watching you, amigo.”

  “Testing, one, two.” He flipped the device to replay mode and turned up the volume. “… better not have busted my stuff. Testing, testing … Boo, Chevy, I’m watching you, amigo.”

  “¡Hijo de puta!” He threw the recorder across the table and shoved himself back from the table against the wall. “Madre de Dios, it can’t be.”

  forty-four

  “Sorry about the breakfast.” Agent Jim Dobron stood across the room pouring coffee from a cardboard carafe. “This is the best I can offer for a Sunday morning to-go order.”

  Bonnie Grecco sat at the small dinette table watching him. She snapped her arms folded and huffed, frustrated at the FBI man’s casual attitude. She’d been sequestered in the hotel for a day with around-the-clock FBI men hovering nearby. She was tired, fed up, and scared. The one thing she was sure about was they hadn’t gotten to the point yet.

  “Look, Agent Dobron, I’ve been here since yesterday morning. All you’ve done is ask about Steph’s business. I told you—I didn’t kill him and I don’t know anything about his business. When can I get out of here?”

  “When we get to the bottom of his murder, Mrs. Grecco.” Dobron stirred sugar packets into his coffee. “And when you help us with a few business matters, you’ll be moving on even faster.”

  She jumped up. “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t know anything. He didn’t tell me anything. I didn’t learn anything. And I didn’t see anything.”

  “Yeah, you said that.”

  “Then what else do you want from me?”

  Agent Dobron returned to the small dinette table and took a chair. He looked across the hotel suite at the other FBI man sitting in an armchair beside the door. “Mike, get some air, okay?”

  The agent nodded, stood, and left the room. A second later, the door lock clicked.

  Bonnie took a breath and sat down. “Now what?”

  “A little talk.” Dobron smiled. “Bonnie, it’s just you and me. No one is listening. So here’s the deal—I want the book. Stephanos knew about the book. I want it.”

  “What book?”

  “The book your husband had up for sale. The book every mobster on the East Coast wants. You know the one. Give me the book and I’ll still put you into witness protection and give you a new life somewhere nice.”

  “How nice?”

  “Nice.”

  “The book?” She framed her best poker face. “The book is what this is about? I thought—”

  “Sure, sure, I know.” Dobron patted the air. “We want his killer, too—of course. But if we get the book, we get the killer, too. Right?”

  She shrugged.

  “So where is it?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about it. Everyone wants the book and I don’t know why. I asked Stephanos and he hit me—he hit me good. If I’d found the thing, I would have burned it. He was a bastard.”

  Dobron watched her over his paper coffee cup. “Where’d you look for it?”

  “Around our place a few weeks ago. I didn’t find it. I knew it was important because of the way he talked on the phone—secret and hush-hush.”

  “What did you hear—exactly?”

  She folded her arms and looked at him. He seemed interested in what she had to say. He wasn’t asking the same old questions and looking bored or indifferent. He wanted to hear her—wanted to hear about the book.

  It was always about the book.

  “Well, let me think.” She played it slow. “A couple weeks ago, I heard him talking on the phone. He said he had the book—like everybody in the world knew what the book was.”

  “Talking to who?”

  “I don’t know. He said it could make them rich and they wouldn’t have to worry about anyone anymore. For a price, of course.”

  “Come on, Bonnie, quit screwing around. Your Caribbean beach house is waiting for you.”

  “I could live there—beaches, fancy drinks.” She picked up her coffee and played with the cup. She took her time; she liked the way it irritated him. “They must have asked him for proof he had it because he said he had some old notes to prove it. He would bring the notes to the party.”

  Dobron narrowed his eyes. “Angela Tucker’s gala?”

  “Yeah, that party.”

  “Notes?” Agent Dobron went into one of the two bedrooms and returned with his briefcase. He opened it and took out several pieces of paper, handing one to her. “This kind of note?”

  She looked down at a photocopy of Grover Cleveland’s face on a one-thousand dollar bill. “I never thought of those. He had a lot of them, too.”

  “Oh? Where’s all the money, Bonnie? Where does he keep it?”

  “I don’t know. I only saw it all once. You never asked me about it before, why now?” She leaned on the table. “What’s this about, Agent Dobron? You’re more interested in the book and the money than in Steph’s murder.”

  “Oh yeah? You aren’t very broken up about his death either.”

  “I cried it all out yesterday. I’m grieving inside.” He was fishing so she cast some bait. “You want to make a deal? No lawyers, no Ruth-Ann Marcos—nobody else, right? Just you and me?”

  “A deal?” Dobron took the photocopy out of her hand and slipped it into his briefcase. “What kind?”

  “The kind of deal where you get a lot of this old money and I get some money and I get to go away. Everybody wins, right?” Bonnie ran her tongue along the rim of her coffee cup and smiled when his eyes followed it. “But I get a free pass on anything Steph did.”

  “Maybe. But it depends.” Dobron refilled her cup, taking care to hold her hand and steady the cup while he poured. “What kind of illegal
things did your husband do, Bonnie?”

  “I’m not sure. But if I’m in this lousy hotel with you, it must be big, right? And you’re asking about the book and stash of old money, too. I know he didn’t get it making business deals. Who pays off in old thousand-dollar bills?”

  Dobron picked up his cell phone, stood up, and walked across the room. “It’s me. Bonnie Grecco and I are talking. She has a lot to tell me I think—so, we should talk later.” Silence. “All right. But I can’t get anyone else out here for an hour. Sure, send them. I’ll meet you in thirty.”

  When he tapped off the call, Bonnie asked, “You going somewhere, Dobron? I thought we were going to talk about a deal?”

  “We will,” he said, slipping on his suit coat. “I have to go talk to someone first. You sit tight with Mike. I’ve got more agents coming out and there’s a West Virginia State Trooper in the parking lot. You’re safe.”

  “I better be.” She stood up and went to her bedroom door. “Look, you have to take me to my house later. I want to get some more things. And I have to make arrangements for Steph’s funeral, too.”

  “Don’t worry about the funeral. I’ll take you when I get back. Stay away from the windows until I do. And no calls out, okay?”

  She nodded and went inside her room, shutting the door behind her.

  Bonnie lay on her bed, listening as Agent Dobron spoke to the other FBI agent, Mike-somebody. Mike was young and athletic and she had caught him eyeing her several times already. Maybe she could talk Mike into getting something other than bad coffee and egg sandwiches for breakfast. Maybe Mike would be nicer to her.

  She had a way with men.

  She checked her overnight bag, sorting out the two changes of clothes and cosmetics Dobron let her gather after swooping her away from Detective Braddock. The few things just wouldn’t do. She needed to get back home and get to the basement safe; the safe the FBI didn’t know about. The safe with Stephanos’s hidden loot.

  Strange how Agent Dobron wasn’t interested in the money. Did he know there was almost a quarter of a million dollars? If he did, then the book was far more valuable than the money. The book must be all he wanted.