Dying for the Past

by T. J. O'Connor

  It’s all everyone wanted.

  forty-five

  It took Chevy a while to calm down after listening to his recorder—he almost wet himself and accused Bear of trying to intimidate him into a false confession. Spence convinced him there was no trickery and a hot breakfast and a deal with the Commonwealth’s Attorney soothed him the rest of the way.

  “So, you were ghost chasing while you gathered information on Angela Tucker for your mysterious client?” Bear watched Chevy devouring a plate of eggs, sausage, and hash browns. “For a guy who is afraid of the dark, ghost hunting seems like a strange occupation.”

  “I’m a PI and I ain’t afraid of the dark,” Chevy said before taking a long mouthful of coffee. “I got into this ghost thing to make some extra money from the videos. I got a friend who knows a guy—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Bear said, “who introduced you to the producer on the Ghost Walk TV show. You have haven’t explained how you found the tunnels and secret rooms at the Vincent House. Did the ghosts show you?”

  “No. I don’t—I didn’t—believe in ghosts. Whenever I get a gig from the show’s producer, I do research on the place. You know, like the building plans, city and power lines, and sewer access. The whole history of the place.”

  Bear wasn’t taking notes. “And it’s all for the cameras, huh?”

  “Heck yeah, man, it makes good video and I ad-lib a lot. The producers love it when I talk about a building’s history and stuff that happened in it. And man, they go nuts when I ‘uncover’ some old wine cellar or underground city tunnel. Sometimes—and man, don’t tell no one—I talk it up like I just discovered it—but I knew it was there from my research. It’s all for show.”

  I asked, “And he found the Vincent House’s tunnels through research?” Bear knew Angel and I found them the same way. “Makes sense, Bear.”

  Bear started scribbling notes. “That’s it?”

  “Most of it. There were old sewer lines running through there around the turn of the century. They followed an alley that split the Vincent estate property in sections. But Vincent bought it all up. I figured the sewer lines were converted into tunnels. Just like up in New York—”

  “You know a lot about escape tunnels in New York?” Bear asked. “How?”

  “I told you—research.” Chevy sipped his coffee. “Anyway, one night I was checking the place out—last week—and I got some strange readings on my tri-meter so I lit the place up with my IR camera.”

  “What?” Bear stopped writing and looked up. “Let’s pretend I live in the real world, Chevy. Explain all the electronic junk.”

  Chevy put his coffee down. “Junk? I paid three grand for the infrared camera gear and almost two for the tri-meter. The tri-meter system detects any radio and microwaves, electric and magnetic fields—they say spirits and paranormal phenomenon disrupts electric and magnetic fields and gives off readings. The stronger the reading, the more energy is around. You know, energy equals ghosts and other stuff. And the IR—”

  “You can see ghosts?”

  Chevy shrugged. “Well, kind of—the equipment can. But you know, I never have before. Except that night—oh, man, I gotta say, it scared the crap out of me.”

  Bear was about to laugh when I said, “He’s not lying, Bear. His equipment knows I’m around. And he could have seen something in the house—there’s plenty there to see, trust me. Wait until I tell you about Sassy—”

  “Detective, I’m telling you, the night we’re talking about, I was in looking for the tunnels and hiding my cameras. All of a sudden my gear goes wonky. I saw something moving around first floor at the bar. I kept getting tri-meter readings, too, so I turned on the IR camera in the lounge and watched from the attic.”

  “And?”

  “Plenty.” Chevy pushed his empty plate across the table and poured himself more coffee. “The hot spot on my IR disappeared behind the bar into the booze closet.”

  “Disappeared? Like, vanished?”

  “I can prove it.”

  “Then prove it,” Bear said. “Now.”

  Chevy cracked a thin smile. “Okay, I’ll give you a little taste. But if you like it, we make a deal. Okay?”

  “Sure. Prove it.”

  Chevy nodded. “Under my bike’s saddle is a pouch for my insurance card and papers. There’s a flash drive inside. Get it.”

  “Your bike is sitting on a truck out back.” Bear stood up and headed for the door. “You better not be lying, Chevy. If you are, you’re going down for murder.”

  Bear stuck his head out of the interview room door and issued orders to a uniformed deputy. Ten minutes later, the deputy returned with a notebook computer and a small computer USB memory drive.

  Bear placed the computer on the table. “Okay, Chevy, impress me.”

  Chevy took control of the computer and banged away on the keyboard. Twice he had to log into websites to access software he needed. Ten minutes later, he brought up a video program and inserted the USB drive into the notebook.

  “Ready?” He turned the screen around to face Bear. “When I saw this IR image disappear behind the bar, I went down and checked it out.” Chevy tapped the keyboard. “One of the booze racks is a secret door. Watch what I found.”

  First, Chevy played a video clip showing the Vincent House’s lounge and bar. The camera pointed down from the corner of the room. In the center of the view, a distorted red and yellow blob of light moved in front of the bar. The image looked like a grotesque shape without features or a fine outline. Instead, it looked more like a person made of gelatin and radiating reds and yellows. After a few seconds, the image moved behind the bar to the far corner wine closet. The image bent over and disappeared.

  “See, man, the ghost went through the wall. Watch what I found when I went down there myself. I was holding the camera going through the house.”

  This video began in the second-floor hallway and descended the stairs. It bounced and jiggled as he descended the stairs and walked down into the bar. He steadied the camera as he walked behind the bar. There, he set the camera down and entered the screen view, poking and probing behind the bar for clues. He opened a small closet door and revealed a liquor and wine storage closet with shelving on all sides still laden with old, dusty bottles. He picked the camera up and went inside. It took him several tries probing the shelves before he came to the center one—he tugged on the shelf and the bottles shook—another tug and the shelf pulled open.

  “See.” Chevy tapped the computer screen. “There are stairs inside leading up to the second floor. They come out in one of the bedroom closets at the top of the stairs. When I went back and checked the video for the bedroom, I saw the same ghost-hotspot there, too.”

  Bear laughed. “And you think the blob of light was a ghost?”

  “Yeah, why not?”

  “Why would a ghost use a secret passage? Don’t they just poof to where they want?”

  “I dunno. But you saw what I did, Detective. We got a deal?”

  I had an idea. “Bear, he’s got something. Maybe the killer was there, too. We know the shot came from one of those bedrooms on the second floor. Maybe the killer was setting up, too, just like Chevy.”

  Bear asked, “Chevy, what night did all this go down?”

  “Monday, late. I sneaked in around midnight, maybe a little after. I had a key, so—”

  “You had a key?” Bear almost came out of his chair.

  “Yeah, I told you, the guy who hired me put a key in one of my payments at the office.”

  “You forgot to mention that.”

  “Oh, sorry. Yeah, I had a key. So, we got a deal?”

  “Anything else you forgot?”

  “Deal first, Detective.” Chevy turned off his video program. “Oh, and did I mention I’m making another drop of recordings tonight—at midnight—in Old Town?”

  “No, you little turd, you didn’t.”

  Chevy smiled a big, evil smile. “Oops.”

  The knock on t
he door kept Bear from twisting him into a pretzel.

  Captain Sutter leaned in the doorway. “Bear, a minute outside please.” Her voice was irritated and her face tight like she just lost her mortgage payment on the ponies. “Now.”

  “Sure, Cap,” he said, following her out.

  Next door to the interview room, standing beside Captain Sutter in front of the one-way glass in the observation room, Agent Jim Dobron lifted his chin as Bear walked in. “Just what are you doing with this witness, Detective?”

  “Interviewing him.”

  Dobron’s tone was edgy and curt. “Don’t you get it yet, Braddock?”

  “I get it just fine. Do you?” Bear looked at Captain Sutter. “I’m sure the Cap has already told you, Dobron, I’m following up on Angela Tucker’s stalker. Why? What brings you here this morning? You already stole all my crime scene evidence.”

  “Stole?” Dobron stepped close to him. “You’re still chasing the Grecco murder. I told you it was an FBI case.”

  “Yeah, you did.” Bear forced a laugh. “But since then, somebody tried to break into Angela Tucker’s house. They broke into your crime scene, too, and now, two more bodies are lying in the tunnels beneath the estate.”

  “What? Why wasn’t I informed?”

  Captain Sutter raised a hand. “We tried, Agent Dobron. I called your office and they said they would relay the message to you and Marcos. They said you were together.”

  “We weren’t. My meeting got cancelled. But that’s not the point. Why were you at my crime scene?”

  “I was pursuing our stalking suspect and he led us there.”

  “He led you there?” Dobron looked through the one-way glass at Chevy. “Bullshit, detective. You’re lying.”

  Bear closed on Agent Dobron and jammed a steel finger into his chest. “You listen to me, Dobron, our suspect dropped his camera outside Angela’s house. There were photos on it proving that he stalked her at the gala and photos proving he had been inside the estate. He also left several thousands of dollars of equipment at the Vincent House.”

  “You should have informed me—”

  Bear jammed his finger deeper. “If you had bothered to look over the case file and evidence you stole from us, you’d know about the surveillance gear left at the house. We staked the place out to catch him trying to recover it. And as you can see, we got him. Back off.”

  “Easy, Bear.” I patted Bear on the shoulder. “Like it or not, we’re all on the same side—I think.”

  Captain Sutter threw a thumb at Bear, making him step away. “Seems we have an impasse, Agent Dobron.”

  “Yes we do, and it’s because you can’t control your detectives, Captain.”

  She laughed. “You should have seen his partner.”

  “Then I suggest—”

  “No, I have a suggestion.” She patted Bear on the back. “I’ll assign Detective Braddock—temporarily—to your team as a liaison. He can muck around in your investigation in an official capacity and you don’t look stupid for missing what he won’t.”

  Agent Dobron looked from Captain Sutter to Bear. When he caught Bear’s eyes, he tried to stare him down and failed. He faced Captain Sutter. “We need local support anyway. But he answers to me.”

  “Terrific,” Bear said in a snarky tone. “But keep your Feebie geniuses out of my way. We work alone.”

  “We, Detective?” Dobron asked. “I’m only signing up for you, not Detective Spence.”

  “Whatever.” Bear pointed to Chevy through the observation glass. “And he’s my witness, not yours.”

  Dobron’s mouth tightened. “Fine. What did he give you?”

  Bear briefed him on the discovery in the tunnels of the missing donations and the two bodies—one we presumed to be Grecco’s killer and the other, Petya Sergeyevich Chernyshov. He didn’t share many details but did give him the highpoints of what we’d learned from Chevy.

  “You know what I do,” Bear said, wrapping up. “More or less.”

  Agent Dobron looked at the floor for a moment and then up at Bear. “And my men missed all this?”

  “Could have happened to anyone,” Bear said, “in the FBI. We simple sheriff’s detectives caught it all.”

  “Agent Dobron,” called a dark-suited man from across the detective’s bullpen. He ran through the office toward us. “Sir, it’s the West Virginia State Police.” He handed Agent Dobron his cell phone. “Our back-up team arrived at the hotel safehouse a few minutes ago. They found Agent Mike Childs unconscious. He’s being medevac’d to the Charles Town Hospital.”

  “What happened?” Agent Dobron’s face flashed red. “What about Bonnie Grecco?”

  “We don’t know much yet, sir. We’re only getting bits and pieces from Childs.”

  “What about Grecco? Where—”

  “Unknown, sir,” the agent said. “The state boys didn’t find her. She’s gone—someone took her.”

  forty-six

  Agent Dobron paced the bullpen with the intensity of a caged bull. He stopped just long enough to curse and shout orders into the cell phone before taking up his patrol again. When he clicked off the phone and turned to Bear, his face was stone.

  “No sign of Bonnie Grecco. Every badge in two states is hunting for her. So far, nothing. She’s gone.”

  I asked, “Any signs she was injured? How’d they take her?”

  “Your man see anything?” Bear asked. “How could she have just vanished?”

  “My man went down to the front desk for more coffee. When he got back, someone was waiting for him. They took him from behind and it was over before he knew.”

  “And Bonnie?”

  “He didn’t see her. He opened the door, walked in, and wham—down he went. He came to when my other agents arrived twenty minutes later. She was gone.”

  Bear looked across the bullpen at the interview room where Chevy was. “I’m going to follow up on Chevy’s story. I’m taking him to his office to see what recordings he has.”

  “You are, huh?” Agent Dobron stopped pacing. “Don’t you mean you’re requesting permission to go?”

  “I don’t need your permission.”

  “Yes, you do. You’re assigned to me, remember?” Agent Dobron looked over at the other FBI man who shrugged. Then, Agent Dobron nodded to Bear. “Okay, Braddock. Permission granted. But first, who do you have at the Vincent House?”

  “Mike Spence. He’s a pain in the ass, but not a bad cop. He’s there with my crime techs. They’re looking over the body dump in the tunnels and trying to find any more passages or rooms in the houses we missed.”

  “Good. My men are there, too.”

  Something wasn’t sitting well with me. “Bear, does this sound right to you about Bonnie? I mean, if someone intended on killing her, why abduct her first?”

  “Dobron,” Bear said, taking it all in. “Abducting Bonnie doesn’t make sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” he said. “Unless it doesn’t have anything to do with Stephanos’s murder.”

  Bear had never told him about André’s affair but he did now. “André Cartier was—”

  “He was involved with her. We’ve known for a week.”

  Bear cocked his head. “A week? Before Stephanos’s murder?”

  “Oh, did my boys one-up you?” Agent Dobron waved in the air. “We’ve been investigating the Greccos for weeks. Cartier’s involvement doesn’t change anything. As bad as he looks, I think someone is trying to frame him.”

  I sighed. “They’ve done a good job.”

  Bear agreed, said so, and added, “Chevy is picking up payment at a dead drop tonight in Old Town.”

  “You and your people handle him.” Dobron started pacing again. “But remember, Braddock, this is my operation—you share everything.”

  “Sure.” Bear smiled a big, broad, plastic smile. “I’m just a dumb local cop trying to help you big-Feebies out.”

  A uniformed deputy walked into the bullpen and handed Bear a file. “Detective
,” the deputy said. “BCI in Richmond just sent this over. It’s the IDs on the two bodies you found last night.”

  “Great, let me—”

  Agent Dobron snatched the file from his hand. “Let me have that.” He opened the file and read. “How did this happen?” He handed the file to Bear. “One of the corpses is Petya Sergeyevich Chernyshov—”

  “We know about him. Who’s the other?” Bear’s eyes flared as he glanced down at the header, which read, “Department of Justice.”

  “Petya isn’t any caterer.” Bear’s voice went cold. “He’s an outlier for the Russian mob in DC. But you knew, right, Dobron?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Neither did I, but I knew the next part. I remembered it from the man’s tattoos on his arm. “Look at the other one, Bear.”

  He did. “The other slug—Viktor the knuckle-dragger—I can’t even pronounce his name—is a Russian mob enforcer. And he shouldn’t be in the Vincent House’s basement at all.”

  “No, he shouldn’t. He’s supposed to be in Lee County, Virginia.” Agent Dobron cursed again and punched the side of a filing cabinet sitting innocently against the wall. “At the federal prison where he was two weeks ago.”

  forty-seven

  “I missed you at the party, Bonnie. Soon you’ll be dead, too.” It was a man’s voice—hushed and disguised.

  Angel leaned across the truck stop table, took Bonnie Grecco’s phone, and replayed the voicemail. “Bonnie, we have to get this to Bear.”

  “No. I don’t want the police involved anymore.”

  “Then why did you call me? What can I do?”

  “They’re gonna kill me. I received this message just after Dobron left the hotel room where they were keeping me. Then someone broke in and I ran.”

  “You’re not telling me everything, Bonnie. No more lies.”

  Bonnie’s face was pale and her hands trembled. Every movement nearby—every customer who walked into the truck stop café—sent her closer to the edge of her seat.

  “Angela,” Bonnie’s voice cracked as she spoke. “I am so sorry to drag you into this, but I have no choice. I don’t trust any of them. No one. I had no one else to call and I knew you had the right friends to help me.”