by Mary Ellis
Michael decided it was his turn at bat. “Because we’re probably the only ones who can help you right now, Mr. Buckley. Once the FBI’s Financial Crimes Division becomes involved, the case will be out of our hands.”
Buckley paled to the color of skim milk. “What are you talking about? I’ve done nothing that could be considered a federal crime. My attorney assured me everything can be straightened out with restitution and probation if this mess even advances that far. I’m cooperating with the board of elders’ request to turn over my files.”
“Would those financial files include statements you received from the accountants hired by Elliott Rayburn?”
Buckley seemed to shrink before their eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t waste our time with lies. We have copies of the last three quarterly statements you received from D.K. Financials of Jackson. Although they’re nothing but smoke and mirrors to buy Spare the Children time to scam more congregations, they prove one thing. You were in on it with them. Despite Reverend Dean’s request to be kept in the loop, D.K. Financials sent their statements to you.”
Buckley tried to slam the door, but Michael was too quick. Shoving his boot heel next to the jamb, he grabbed hold of the door. “What’s your hurry, Ralph?”
“You’re not cops. I don’t have to talk to two PIs hired by that snooty Alice Dean. Just because she comes from money, she thinks she can—”
Michael didn’t like Buckley’s harsh words against a widow who only wanted justice for her dead husband. He threw his shoulder against the door and shoved it open.
Buckley staggered backward, while Michael and Beth practically fell into his living room. “You’ve got no search warrant and no right to push your way in. I’m calling the cops.” With a shaking hand, Buckley pulled a phone from his pocket.
“By all means, Ralph, call Detective Lejeune. It’ll save him the trip back to the station once he’s done at the DA’s office.” Michael inched forward until he loomed over the smaller man.
Beth pulled on his shirtsleeve. “Maybe we should wait on the porch until Detective Lejeune arrives with that arrest warrant.”
“Why should we stand in the hot sun when I distinctly heard Mr. Buckley invite us in?” Feeling more confident by the minute, Michael thumped an index finger against Buckley’s chest. “We’ll stay right here while Mr. Buckley gathers the financial records for Calvary Baptist. And while you’re at it, why not print a copy of the payment you received for handing Reverend Dean on a platter to Elliott Rayburn?”
“How could you have found out about that?” sputtered Buckley as he staggered back into a hall tree. “If Paul had butted out his nose, the church would have gotten their investment back with interest. He knew the time frame involved. If he would’ve left well enough alone, he’d still be alive.”
Michael looked at him with contempt. “How much did they pay you?”
“Not enough to end up dead like Paul. You’d better watch your step, Preston. You too, Beth. You don’t know how dangerous these people are.”
With his protective instincts kicking in, Michael stepped in front of his partner. “Are you threatening us?”
“It’s not me you need to worry about!” Buckley screamed without concern as to who overheard. “I didn’t kill Paul, but you’re right—somebody did.” He pivoted on his heel and strode down the hall. “Sit, stand, search my cupboards for all I care. I’m not sticking around until somebody makes sure I suffer a fatal accident.”
Michael started after him, but a tight grip on his arm slowed him down.
“Where are you going?” Beth hissed in his ear.
“To his office. Buckley invited us in and said we could snoop all we want. Let’s see what else he has in his filing cabinet.”
“Come outside right now. Don’t make me pull a gun on you.” Beth didn’t sound like the sweet woman who shared her strawberry sundae with him.
Once they reached the front porch, Beth grabbed his shirt with both hands. “What were you talking about? Jack isn’t getting a search warrant. He doesn’t know about the connection between Buckley and Rayburn. Sounds like the DA offered Buckley a plea deal and he plans to take it. Do you have proof Buckley took some kind of kickback?”
“Easy, partner.” Michael pried her fingers off his newest wardrobe addition. “No, I was bluffing. I had my suspicions and the ploy worked.”
“To what end?” Beth stomped her foot. “Once again you tipped our hand. All Buckley needs to do is deny taking payola. Then the burden will be on you to find proof of conspiracy—the proof he’s probably shredding right now. We should have updated Jack before you broke down Ralph’s door.” Grabbing his hand, Beth dragged him down the walkway like a five-year-old.
“He’s scared, Elizabeth, but I doubt Buckley is so desperate he’ll destroy evidence—”
“He’s scared all right, and you should be worried as to why.”
“Rayburn didn’t look like a cold-blooded murderer. He wouldn’t want to wrinkle his suit.”
“Considering the church invested half a million dollars, Rayburn could afford to pay someone to do the dirty work. Hitmen out in the sticks work for a couple thousand.”
“How do you know that?” Michael pulled free from her grasp.
“Don’t ask.” When they reached his Charger, Beth held out her palm. “Give me your keys,” she demanded.
“You want to drive my car? This ain’t no four-cylinder Chevy, little missy. This is a man’s car.” Michael held out his fists like a sleight-of-hand game in a carnival. “Choose correctly and I’ll let you drive.”
Beth’s face looked like it might ignite. “Give me those keys this instant!”
“Fine. I was merely concerned for your safety.” He opened the hand containing the keys.
Beth snatched the ring, unlocked the driver’s door, and then hesitated. “On second thought, I’ll walk back to the office. Checking the other names on D.K. Financial’s list can wait till later.” She tossed him the keys. “You get to drive the man’s car after all.”
“You can’t be serious. Walking will take at least half an hour.”
“Exactly. I’ll need that much time to figure out what to say to Nate. We need to explain this without sounding like you messed up. In the meantime, call Jack with a full update of what you found out. You probably have his number on speed dial.” Her face scrunched into a scowl.
“I already see the error of my ways. Ride back with me, Beth, and we’ll call Lejeune along the way.” Michael opened the passenger door.
Beth shook her head like a stubborn mule. “No, for two reasons. One, you’ll do better talking to Jack alone. That man doesn’t like me. And two, by the time I call the boss and he asks, ‘Did you inform Natchez PD of what you discovered about D.K. Financials and Ralph Buckley’s involvement,’ I don’t want to be lying when I say yes. Knowing Nate, he will ask.”
Michael climbed into his low-slung car and lowered the window. “As usual, you’re right. I guess I still have more to learn.”
Beth’s expression softened. “The thin line that a private detective must walk with law enforcement takes time to master. Don’t beat yourself up for getting excited. I’ll see you in thirty minutes.” Beth marched off at a pace a notch slower than a jog.
Michael appreciated her foresight. If it was the last thing he did, he would prove himself worthy of her faith in him. Might as well get this uncomfortable phone call over with. He punched in number seven on speed dial and switched to hands-free communication. By the time his Charger passed Beth power walking down the street, Detective Lejeune answered the call.
His gruff, “What’s up, Dick Tracy?” didn’t bode well for the rest of Michael’s afternoon.
THIRTY-NINE
Michael paced the floor of Price Investigations until Maxine issued a loud sigh.
“I cannot work with you wearing a groove in the floor tile. I’m going on break. You want anything to drink?”
“No thanks, Mi
ss Maxine. Not unless they sell hemlock juice.” Alone in the office, Michael tried to figure out why he’d approached Buckley without inviting the police to the party. Unfortunately, he still had no logical explanation when Lejeune squealed to a stop in the back lot.
When that man says, “I’ll be right there,” he’s not using a figure of speech.
Michael swept open the door the exact moment Lejeune reached the top step. “I hope no one set up radar between the police department and Price Investigations.” He offered a friendly smile.
“Cut the jokes, Preston, and spill what you found out about Buckley.” Lejeune stomped inside and glanced around. “Where’s your mentor, Miss Ne’er-Do-Well?”
“Miss Kirby will be here soon. I found the evidence, so I can fill you in.” Michael wanted to make sure Beth took no blame for his overzealousness.
Lejeune leaned his bulk against a filing cabinet. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“Our assistant will be back shortly, so why don’t we talk in my office?” Michael picked up the folder from Maxine’s desk that he’d put there five minutes ago.
“Lead the way.”
Halfway down the hall Michael decided against his claustrophobic cubicle. “Actually, we might be more comfortable in here. Please have a seat.” He waved him into Nate’s office.
Lejeune did as instructed without taking his eyes off Michael. “Are you going to give me that file or not?”
“Yes, but I want to provide some background first.” Michael sat in Nate’s upholstered chair. “Since our last update, I visited the Denver charity where Reverend Dean invested the church building fund.” He omitted Beth’s name to keep any hostility aimed at him. “The pastor hadn’t spent the money like we’d originally assumed. He was trying to do a good deed until they broke ground for the new school. I’ve been unable to determine whether this charity is a legitimate nonprofit.”
Lejeune crossed and uncrossed his legs but didn’t interrupt.
“As I examined the days leading up to Reverend Dean’s death, I discovered his requests for investment progress had been ignored. Recently, I found out the charity issued statements, but whether or not they’re accurate remains to be seen.”
Lejeune exhaled a breath. “Yeah, I got the picture, Sherlock. Move along.”
Michael ignored the insult. “The quarterly statements were sent to Ralph Buckley from an accounting firm in Jackson, D.K. Financials, which handled Mississippi and three other states. I believe Buckley received a commission for lining up Reverend Dean and Calvary Baptist Church. When I confronted Buckley today, he didn’t deny the allegation. In fact, he became highly agitated. Here are the bogus statements and copies of emails between Buckley and D.K. Financials, and between Spare the Children International and Reverend Dean. Buckley’s bank account should show a deposit from Elliott Rayburn or some officer at the Denver charity.” Michael handed Lejeune the folder. “I’ve done a preliminary background check on D.K. Financials. All that seems to exist are a post office box, a fancy website less than a year old, an email address, and an answering machine. Inside the file is proof Buckley was part of a scam to defraud the church. He made sure Reverend Dean was left holding the proverbial bag.”
“Oh, is that what you believe?” Lejeune sputtered out the question. “A charity scam that involves churches in four different states?”
“This could stretch across the globe, Detective. According to their executive director, Spare the Children raises money all over the world.”
“Across the globe?” Lejeune slammed the folder down on Nate’s desk, his eyes bulging. “Yet you thought it savvy to march up to Buckley’s front door and gloat, ‘Nah-nah-nah, I caught you now, you bad, bad boy.’ ”
Michael expected a reprimand for his hastiness, but he hadn’t expected humiliation. He bit the inside of his mouth to control his temper.
“Because you’re new at this, Preston, I’ll spell it out for you. After you found proof, as you described it, your sole responsibility was to notify law enforcement. That would be me. You’re not a sworn officer of the law, and thus you acted without authority. What’s more, this case is no longer the jurisdiction of the Natchez PD. I’ll have to turn your so-called evidence over to the FBI office in Jackson. All this was spelled out to your partner by Chief McNeil before you two went gallivanting off to Denver.” Lejeune waited for his reaction before continuing. “Yeah, I know Beth Kirby went with you. Did you two have fun in the mile-high city?”
“I don’t appreciate your insinuations, Detective,” Michael said, tightening his grip on the arm of his chair.
“No? Well, I don’t appreciate you tipping off Buckley. By the time I present this evidence to the feds, that crooked conman could be long gone. We could have saved the American taxpayers plenty if Buckley believed he got away with a slap on the hand. Now he’s probably on his way to Nebraska with a new identity.” Lejeune rose to his feet and tucked the file under his arm. “Great work, Preston.”
Michael walked him to the door, grateful Maxine hadn’t witnessed his scolding. Unfortunately, Beth reached the end of her half-hour walk at an inopportune moment. She ran up the steps and paused, breathless and wide-eyed.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Lejeune drawled.
“Leaving so soon, Jack?” Beth cooed. “I was just about to put the kettle on for tea.” She lifted the damp hair off her neck.
“You’re a real piece of work, Kirby. You were supposed to be training this guy, not setting him up to take a fall. Chief McNeil spelled it out crystal clear that anything you discovered on your fact-finding mission was to go to me. Yet you didn’t call and you didn’t write.” He glared down his nose at her. “You’re off jogging on company time while your protégé tips off Buckley.”
“Miss Kirby was there but had no idea what I had planned. Once she realized, she tried to stop me.” Michael wedged himself between the two adversaries.
“Yeah, then she should’ve tried harder.” Lejeune pushed past him down the stairs. “If Buckley’s in the wind, this is on you, Kirby.”
Michael opened his mouth, but Beth held up a hand. “Stop. Don’t say another word. Let him blame me. It’s better if he doesn’t hate both of us.” She backed him into the office as Maxine arrived from the alley entrance.
“What did I miss? You two look like a battle was fought and lost.”
“Your analogy isn’t far from the truth.” Beth dropped into one of the visitor chairs.
Michael pulled the second chair closer. “This is my fault, and I apologize.”
“What did you do, Michael?” Maxine loomed over him like a brooding hen.
Ignoring her, Beth responded to him. “Lejeune is right. I should have explained word-for-word what Chris said and left nothing to chance. You’re still in training.”
“What does Chief McNeil have to do with this?” Maxine whispered next to Michael’s ear.
“Nothing, Miss Maxine. I acted on impulse without thinking. Now Beth caught Detective Lejeune’s wrath instead of me.”
Beth scraped her hands down her face. “Nate put me in charge, so the responsibility was mine. Jack has every right to be mad.”
“Are you okay, sweetie?” Maxine pressed the back of her hand to Beth’s forehead. “You might be coming down with a bug.”
Beth smiled at the older woman. “I’m fine, thanks, but I think I’ll head to my cubicle and update my résumé.”
“No way,” said Michael. “If anybody loses their job over this, it should be me.”
“Both of you get a grip,” said Maxine. “When our fearless leader returns from his honeymoon, he’ll be in such a good mood he’ll overlook anything but capital murder. Which reminds me, did you talk to Nate during your walk from Buckley’s?” she asked Beth. “And why did you make her walk?” Maxine asked him. “Did she drip ice cream on your new upholstery?”
Michael answered first. “No, ma’am. Beth walked to get her quota of Fitbit steps.”
Beth smiled at
his answer. “Nah, I didn’t want to talk to Nate until Michael smoothed things over with Jack.” Suddenly, the ping of her cell phone was accompanied by the whir of the fax machine.
“Anyone want to bet those two communications are related?” Maxine hurried to retrieve the fax.
“It’s probably a text from Nate, along with a faxed resignation for me to sign and return before I leave the office.” Beth pulled her phone from her pocket and tapped on the screen.
“What is it?” demanded Michael and Maxine after several moments of silence.
“It’s an email from the state medical examiner. The second autopsy has been completed.” Beth read certain key phrases aloud. “Neck bruising has been ruled inconsistent with self-inflicted death. What’s more, traces of ketamine have been found in the toxicology screen of the victim’s blood. Paul Dean was drugged at the time of his death, yet no drugs were found on his person or in the vicinity of the body.” Beth sucked in a breath before continuing. “Dr. Pallota’s original conclusion of death-by-suicide has been overturned. Paul Dean’s death has been reclassified as a homicide. Appropriate law enforcement personnel have been sent copies of new autopsy results including toxicology report. They have been instructed to submit all physical evidence taken from the scene to the state crime lab for further examination. Duplicate copies have been faxed to the office of Price Investigations, in care of Elizabeth Kirby, representing Alice Dean, widow of the deceased. Respectfully submitted, Dr. Anna Diab, Hinds County, Mississippi.” When she reached the end of the email, Beth shoved her phone in her pocket and looked at her fellow employees. “Anybody have something to say?”
Maxine wrung her hands, her earlier exuberance gone. “I would say hooray, but how can we cheer the idea of Reverend Dean being murdered?”
“I would say Mrs. Dean was right all along,” murmured Michael. “Now you and I will bring a murderer to justice.”
Beth met his eye with an unreadable expression.
Maxine pulled the faxed transmission from the tray. “These will point you in the right direction.”