by F J messina
“You all will let me know what you find out, now, won’t you?”
She gave him a pleasant smile. “You can count on it, sir.”
When Jet reached the exit door of the Woodland Acres Bourbon Heritage Center she stepped into a teeming rainstorm. The first part of the trip back to Lexington, on small country roads, was going to be challenging.
24
After breakfast with Tee on Sunday morning, Sonia found herself sitting at her kitchen table, writing out Roman numerals—a nervous habit she had developed during her years in a Catholic elementary school. She was starting to become even more nervous about the fact that they had been given only five days to solve the murder of Victor Rasmussen, and it was already the morning of Day Three. To make matters worse, she wasn’t at all certain that they had found any information that they could count on to lead them to his murderer.
She took a little inventory. Tee and Jet were off doing the last interviews with the significant leaders of the bourbon industry that Mason Holiday had identified as important. The only exception was John O’Neal at Horatio Blevins. He was out of town and wouldn’t be back until Tuesday. Sonia wanted to speak to him herself, face to face. Rasmussen had been found, after all, on O’Neal’s property, and was in fact, being “stored” on O’Neal’s farm.
Brad was off talking to Patricia Huntington-Jones, Rasmussen’s first wife. The only family member left to speak to was Victor’s son, Davey. He had been in the United Arab Emirates for at least a month and wouldn’t be back until seven o’clock Tuesday evening, the very end of Day Five. There just didn’t seem to be much in the way of promising leads in terms of family connections.
And that was what was making Sonia so nervous. Conversations with the people in the bourbon industry had turned up nothing. Conversations with family members had turned up nothing. Talking to other business associates was another possibility, but the Rasmussen Company was no small affair. They had business arrangements with tons of other businesses, and for that matter, other individuals as well. Sonia was fully aware that with Tee joining the firm, albeit temporarily, and with Brad offering help, BCI was more fully staffed than it had ever been. Yet, together, they would barely be able to make a dent in the list of Rasmussen Company business connections in the next three days. She brushed a wisp of hair out of her face. Damn it, we need more help.
Sonia had slipped off her blue and white running shoes and was sitting, barefoot on her couch. As she sipped her coffee, it suddenly struck her that there just might be one other person to whom she could turn for help, someone who understood investigations and yet wasn’t a police officer—well, not anymore.
Lifting her phone off the end table next to her, Sonia began scrolling quickly. It was only a half-second before she was into the J’s. James Harris, Jessica Strong, John Aaronson . . . . There it was, Johnny Adams. It had been several months since Johnny Adams had pursued her romantically and then, in an incredible moment, saved her life. It had been so very difficult for her, only moments later, to tell him that as much as she cared for him, she was choosing to be with Brad Dunham. Shortly thereafter, Johnny had resigned from the Lexington Police Department and left town. Sonia had heard, through Jet’s friend on the force, Malcolm Withers, that losing Sonia to Brad had been part of the reason for his leaving.
And now, here she sat, her phone in her hand, ready to call this really nice guy and ask him to come help—with almost no notice. She took a deep breath and touched his name on the screen.
“The number you have reached is no longer in service.”
Sonia was confused. Nobody changed their phone numbers when they moved anymore. Too much of a hassle letting everyone know your new number. She tried again.
“The number you have . . . .”
Sonia sat almost motionless, her fingers drumming out a rhythmic pattern on the screen of the phone. Finally, another thought crossed her mind. Tapping on the phone’s home screen, she came to another phone number and pressed CALL.
“Hello?” The voice was quiet, guarded.
“Johnny?”
There was a pause before he answered, even more hesitant. “Who is this?”
“Johnny. It’s me, Sonia Vitale.”
There was another pause, but when he answered, Johnny Adams’ voice was distinctly different, upbeat. “Hey. How are you? Wow, how good to hear your voice.”
“Yeah.” The smile in her voice came through. “Good to hear yours as well. How are you, Johnny?”
“Great. I’m doing just great. But what about you? Everything going okay for the ladies of BCI?”
“Yes, actually, things are great. So, where are you these days?”
The answer came quickly. “Colorado. Denver, Colorado, and having a great time. You should see how beautiful it is out here in the spring, Sonia. You really should.”
“Well, I’d love to sometime. Truly, I would.” Recalling some of the more intense moments of their romantic relationship, she was careful not to go any further.
“So, wow, I’m surprised you were able to track me down.”
“Well, I tried your old number but, as I’m sure you know, it’s out of service. And I remembered you had told me that, as a detective, there was always the possibility that you might find yourself in a sticky situation and need a phone you could use for, how do we say it, discrete conversations?”
“Yeah, well, after what happened in Lexington, I just wanted to leave a whole lot of things behind. So, I moved out here to Denver, started doing some private security work, and got a new phone number. You know, a fresh start. I’m glad you remembered this other number, though. It might have been tough to find me without it. Now, why did you say you were calling?”
Sonia took a deep breath. She was heartened by the fact that she had received such a warm reception from Johnny, but she wasn’t sure he was going to be amenable to dropping everything and coming to help her, especially once she made it clear that Brad was still a big part of her life. That, in fact, they were now engaged.
Sonia spent the next few minutes laying things out to Johnny. She told him what she could without exceeding the limits of her NDA with Mason Holiday. She figured that if Johnny actually came to help for the next few days, she would sign him to some short-term contract, making it possible for her to share all the pertinent information. When she finished sharing what she could, she held her breath. She was rewarded with the words she wanted desperately to hear.
“Sonia. I would do anything to help you. There’s nothing going on here that I can’t get away from for a couple of days. You just hang on. As soon as I can, I’ll text you about when I’m getting into town. I’ll be there sometime tomorrow, maybe even later today.”
“Oh, Johnny, that would be so wonderful. It’ll be great to see you, great to work with you again. Just let me know when to pick you up at the airport.”
There was a moment’s silence, then Johnny responded. “Oh, no need for that. I’ll just rent a car. I’m sure I’ll need wheels if I’m going to do any real investigating. You just hang out at that crazy office of yours, and before you know it, I’ll be there with bells on.”
“Really?”
“Well, okay. I’ll wear clothing if you’d rather, but trust me, the bell thing looks great on me.”
Sonia couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Oh, Johnny. There’s that dad humor I’ve missed so much. Just let me know when you’ll be getting in. The least I can do is have a nice hot cup of coffee and one of Magee’s famous pastries waiting for you.”
“You’ve got it. See you soon. Say, “Hi,” to, ah, Brad for me. Bye.” The last few words had not come out of his mouth as smoothly as he had hoped.
25
As the phone call ended, Sonia stood and began walking around her tiny apartment. She was thrilled that she was going to get more help with the case. She also had to admit that there was a part of her that was eager to see the handsome man who had tried so hard to be with her—and had succeeded in winning at least a
tiny part of her heart.
After calming herself a bit by making yet another cup of coffee, Sonia sat back down on the couch and tried to get back to the matter at hand—solving the murder of Victor Rasmussen.
Eventually, something came to her. It appeared that the one lead they still hadn’t tracked down was the mention, by two different people, that Missy Charles might be more than Victor Rasmussen’s right hand. She might possibly be the one person who could take over The Rasmussen Company if something happened to Victor. Sure, Sonia thought, Victor’s son might be the heir-apparent, legally speaking, but did he have the know-how to run the company? Sonia ran her fingers through her hair and spoke into her cup of coffee. “I wonder if she thinks she could take on Victor’s son, Davey, fight him for control of the company.” She knew that it was conceivable that Missy could try to get rid of him by paying him off, or worse, and therefore wind up with the company in her own hands.
Sonia reached down and lifted her computer into her lap. Her fingers tapping on its sides, she watched the screen come alive. “Let’s see who you really are, Ms. Charles.”
Sonia had been a computer science major at The Ohio State University, but all of the things she had learned in college paled when compared to what she had learned since she’d hooked up with Brad Dunham and his old NCIS colleagues. What she was about to attempt certainly wasn’t listed on the syllabus of any of the classes she’d taken in college.
Sonia had hacked into two computer systems in the last year, one with access through a public website, the other by physically placing a keystroke monitoring device on the computer. This time would be different. With no physical access to the computer and a truly stand-alone company website, she was left using the most rudimentary form of hacking, sending a trojan file. She would send it as an attachment to an email and hope the recipient would open it, thereby allowing the virus to infiltrate the system. It was an approach that didn’t always work, and even if it did, it wasn’t likely to produce any results very quickly.
Sonia created the virus, sent the email off to Missy, and sat back on her couch. She took a long, slow breath. Now what? Heading to her coffee maker to drain the last quarter inch of coffee into her cup, she turned the case over and over in her mind. The pressure of the five-day time constraint was starting to become an impediment in and of itself. She felt like it was keeping her from really concentrating on the facts and their implications. She gave her head one quick shake. I’ve got to go do something, something that will move this thing forward.
It struck her that Carl Rasmussen might just have more insight into Missy Charles and what she was capable of than Brad had surmised. After all, when Brad had spoken with Victor’s father, he hadn’t yet heard about Missy’s own words implying she could handle the company with or without Victor. After a final sip, Sonia turned and rinsed her coffee cup in the sink, leaving the carafe and the machine for later. Time to go see Mr. Rasmussen myself. Let’s see what the old man has to say.
Sonia got herself together. Hair, make-up, white pants─heck, it’s almost Memorial Day─pink oxford shirt, blue flats, Smith & Wesson .38 special. She walked down the wooden stairs outside her apartment, climbed into her old Subaru, and headed off to see Carl Rasmussen.
After using her dark brown eyes and big smile to get past the security guard at the entrance, she pulled up to 7722 Bellevie Road. Unfortunately, it had begun pouring rain. She’d have to use her umbrella. With a determined sigh, she peeked the door open, slid the umbrella out, and of course, struggled to get it to open all the way as she stepped out of the car. By the time she reached the front door, her feet and the bottoms of her white pants were already soaked.
Sonia knocked and the door was opened—same sturdy woman, same German accent. “Come in, come in, ja?” She motioned Sonia to an indoor floor mat in the vestibule. Sonia wondered if she needed to remove her shoes.
Sonia wiped the moisture off her face and shuddered. “Oh, it’s terrible out there. Thank you for letting me in.”
“Ja, sure. No need for you to stand out in za rain.” She gave Sonia a weak smile with a hint of warmth in it. “How can I help you?”
“Well, Ms.─” Sonia was stuck.
“Frieda. Frieda Schiessl.”
Sonia’s eyes darted to the woman’s left hand. “Yes. Mrs. Schiessl. I’m here to see Mr. Rasmussen if that’s possible.”
Frieda shook her head. “It’s not.” Both the answer and the sound of her voice were clipped.
Sonia put on her best pouty face. “Oh, I know I don’t have an appointment. It’s just that─”
Frieda raised her left hand. “It’s not possible because za mister is not here.” The answer was followed by silence rather than an explanation.
“Ohhh.” Sonia’s mind was scrambling for a way forward. “Do you know when he’ll return?”
“He’s in hospital. Maybe he’s not coming back at all.” Sonia was having trouble reading Frieda as she responded. The first part of her statement had been pure employee reporting. The second part actually held some warmth, almost compassion.
Sonia gave the woman a weak smile of her own. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.” She looked around the vestibule—simple walls, wood flooring, some odd-looking sculpture of couples entwined. “I guess I’ll leave then. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“Do you want to look at his computer?”
Sonia was taken aback. She cocked her head. “Excuse me?”
Frieda puffed up, apparently a little put out by having to explain herself. “Do you want to see his computer?” she repeated firmly. “Za others wanted to look at his computer.”
“Oh.” Sonia feigned understanding. “Right. The computer. So, some of our folks were already here?”
Frieda’s impatience showed through her huff. “Ja, za last time he was in hospital.”
Sonia tried her best to look both comfortable with the information and impatient. “Of course.” She shook her head. “Which ones came?”
“Za man and za woman. They said they were from za company and they needed to see his computer. I let zem see it.” There was no ambivalence in her words.
“Sure, sure.” Sonia nodded her approval. “Right, they needed to look at the computer. Of course.” She paused, uncertain how to pose her next question. “So, where is it? I don’t want to track rain all over the floor.”
Frieda spun and took off walking. “Follow me. You take your shoes off, ja?”
Sonia couldn’t believe it. She slipped her shoes off and followed the woman in the pink uniformish dress down the marble-floored hallway and toward the same room in which Brad had met Carl Rasmussen, though she didn’t know it. She was on her way to Rasmussen’s computer. That had never even been her goal for the day, she’d only come to speak to the old man. As she entered the den, she coughed gently, “So, you said Mr. Rasmussen might not be able to return?”
“Cancer.” There was just the slightest nod in her head. “He’s had it a long time. Ve vas surprised when he came home za last time.”
“Sure, sure.” Sonia sounded saddened. She actually was. She sat down at the computer and turned it on. She spoke while her eyes watched the computer screen come alive. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Schiessl. I’ll let you know when I’m finished. This won’t take very long.”
“Ja, sure. I’ll be in za front room. Call if you need something.”
Sonia began working her way through the computer, her foot tapping the expensive-looking wood flooring. It was easy since the computer wasn’t password protected in any way. She didn’t immediately see anything that seemed to pertain to the business, no folder marked Rasmussen Company or anything like that. She opened his email. AOL. Wow, that’s old-school. Has this guy never heard of Gmail? There was little there, and it all seemed to pertain to personal correspondence. She took a very close look at the names attached to the incoming emails in both his inbox and deleted items. The only name she recognized was Victor’s, and those messages held nothing th
at seemed particularly important. She checked his internet history as well, but it appeared the old man took little advantage of his connection to the worldwide web.
Frustrated, Sonia decided to try one last thing before shutting the computer down and leaving. She clicked on the list of recently opened files. There was little there of interest as well, except a folder marked WOCR. When she clicked on that file, she realized the letters stood for Will of Carl Rasmussen. She wondered if there would be some bombshell information in the document. As she skimmed through the document, however, she noted that it was pretty much what one would expect. She ran her fingers through her damp hair. Poor old guy. Knows this is probably it. Just wanted to make certain everything was in place before he . . . .
Sonia manipulated the mouse, turning off the computer, then headed for the front door. She found Frieda waiting for her. She wondered if the woman had been standing there watching and waiting the whole time. “Thank you again, Mrs. Schiessl. I told you it wouldn’t take very long.”
Frieda nodded silently.
“One last thing. I saw that the last two who were here had been working on a particular file. I was wondering if they’d finished and I’m not sure which two came that day. What were their names again?”
Frieda shook her head. “I don’t know. Zey didn’t say. Zey just said they were from za company.”
Sonia waved her hand nonchalantly. “I’ll find them. There are only two teams that do that kind of work. You just describe them and I’ll know who they are.”
Frieda squinted her eyes. Sonia couldn’t tell if she was trying to remember what those people looked like or wondering whether or not she should say. “I don’t remember much. Tall man, thin, beard. Blonde voman.”
“How old?”
Frieda looked a little perturbed. “Ach,” she shrugged. “Forties, fifties?”
“Uh huh.” Sonia nodded knowingly. She could feel the clock running out. “Anything special about them.”