“I think we need a distraction,” I said. “I’ll create one while you go over and check out that space.”
Mal nodded, and with that I hobbled back toward the gift shop. Once inside, I let one of my crutches drop. This got the attention of Charlene and one of the other shoppers. As I bent down to pick it up, I pushed my casted leg out behind me and then let myself fall onto my good knee, acting as if I’d lost my balance. I let the other crutch fly out sideways, hitting a display of small rubber dinosaurs and knocking several of them to the floor.
“Oh, darn it!” I exclaimed. Now I had the attention of everyone nearby. Several people hurried to help me while Charlene scurried over to start picking up the scattered rubberized dinosaur figures. “I’m so sorry,” I said with an embarrassed laugh. “This stupid leg has turned me into such a klutz.”
For the next minute or so, everyone was busy helping me back to my feet, handing me my crutches, and returning the display items to the shelves. After thanking everyone for their help and apologizing again, I left the shop area and headed for the exit doors. Mal was waiting for me on the other side.
“Anything?” I said.
He nodded, a big grin on his face. He patted his jacket pocket and said, “I found an envelope tucked in behind the extinguisher.”
“Thank goodness.”
“That was quite an act you pulled back there. Are you okay? You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”
“I’m fine. I took gymnastics in grade and middle school, and while I was never all that good at it, it did teach me one valuable lesson: how to fall without hurting myself.”
“Well, you did a good job of it,” Mal said with a smile. “I’d give you a ten.”
On that high note, we made our way out of the museum and went back to the bar.
Chapter 16
Though I was anxious to see what was inside the letter, I knew we should wait until we got back to my place to open it—the whole preservation of evidence thing that was as much a part of my life these days as it was a part of any cop’s life.
Cora was seated at the bar when we walked in, and I knew her presence there rather than upstairs with the rest of the Capone Club meant she was eager to catch me and give me some information. As soon as she saw me, she slid off her stool, laptop tucked under her arm, and veered onto a path to my office door, meeting me there.
“I have lots of things to tell you,” she said.
Mal, who was right behind me, as usual, asked, “Want me to give you two a little time alone?”
“No need for that,” I said. Then I realized I might be being presumptuous. I looked at Cora, my eyebrows raised in question. “Is there?”
She shook her head. “You both can, and probably should, hear this.”
Once inside my office, Cora settled into my desk chair, opening her laptop on top of my desk. I shrugged off my coat, as did Mal. “Before I go into my information,” Cora asked, tapping some keys, “did you guys strike gold at the museum?”
“We did,” I said. I looked over at Mal, who removed the envelope from inside his coat. He set it on top of my desk and then removed his coat, draping it over one arm of the couch.
The envelope was an ordinary, white, number ten, business-type one. It was sealed, but like others we had received, it came with an adhesive strip for sealing, making the likelihood of any DNA being present pretty slim. Nothing was written on the outside of the envelope.
Cora, Mal, and I exchanged looks. Nothing had to be said; we were all thinking the same thing. After several seconds of this visual standoff, I broke it by speaking up.
“I have paper over there in my printer, and a letter opener here on my desk. Or we can use my scissors. Either way, I think we should open it here and now. I have gloves for all of us right over there.” I nodded with my head toward some shelves on the back wall where several boxes of gloves sat.
I half expected Mal to object right away, but he didn’t. I knew Cora would go along with it because her curiosity was killing her. It took Mal a few seconds to agree, but eventually he nodded, and I jumped on that as my cue. I hobbled over to the printer, yanked out a piece of paper, and placed it on top of my desk. I looked over at Mal and made a little sideways nod toward the envelope. “Would you like to do the honors?”
Mal grabbed a pair of latex gloves from one of the boxes on my shelves and pulled them on. He returned to the desk, reached over, and picked up my letter opener. After slipping the opener’s tip under the top flap on the envelope, he neatly sliced it open. Then, after setting the opener down, he held the envelope upside down over the piece of paper I had placed on the desk and pulled the two sides apart. A folded sheet of paper that looked identical to the type on my desk and in my printer fell out. Mal lifted the envelope and peered inside to see if anything else might be clinging in there, and when he saw there wasn’t, he set it aside.
Carefully, he picked up the folded paper that had fallen out of the envelope and opened it over the piece of paper on the table. We all watched carefully to see if anything fell out of the folds, and at first blush this letter appeared to be clean. Once Mal had it completely opened, I saw that it was two sheets of paper rather than one. On the top page, I saw handwriting, the words written using a form of calligraphy that appeared to match what had been in most of the previous letters. But unlike the others, this time there was no signature.
I leaned in and peered over Mal’s left shoulder so I could read the letter along with him. Cora cozied up on his right.
Dear Ms. Dalton,
If you’re reading this letter, then you have proven yourself to be a most worthy adversary thus far. While I am impressed with your abilities, I’m still not convinced that what you do isn’t some form of chicanery. Or perhaps you haven’t been playing by the rules I have set forth. Whichever it may be, I feel there is an end coming to our little game. My goal is to expose you for the con artist you are, and it seems that doing this will require me to ramp up the stakes. I have done so with this clue, and you will find that future clues will be much harder both in terms of content and the time allowed before your deadline. you have until five p.m. on December 31 for this one. My next victim has already been targeted. That person’s life now depends upon your success.
Good luck.
There was nothing more written on this first page, and after looking at both me and Cora to see if we were done reading, Mal carefully separated the two pages and placed the first one down on the table. The second page had a short, four-line poem on it:
Within the triplet’s ova you will
find another clue,
Dig it up in time, and our game
will then ensue.
Fail and brace yourself for a
very cruel surprise,
As someone edges closer to a frightening,
untimely demise.
In the folds of the paper there were a few faint smears of something yellowish green. Mal pointed to one of the spots. “What do you make of this, Mack?”
I made a “gimme” gesture with my gloved hands. Mal handed over the page, and after looking at it closely, I raised it near my face, closed my eyes, and inhaled slowly and deeply through my nose. I heard a musical note—a single, low A note with a woodwind sound. I also had an odd, soft sensation on my fingertips, as if I was rubbing talc between them.
“It’s something floral, but not a perfume or lotion,” I said. “It’s probably pollen. I not only hear something, I have this soft sensation on my fingertips that I’ve felt before when handling flowers.” I took another whiff and shook my head. “I can’t tell you the specific flower it’s from, but I’m certain it’s from some kind of plant.”
“Anything else about the paper or the ink strike you?”
“I feel certain the ink used—at least what was used on the first page—is the same homemade ink that has been used in the other letters. The smell of the pollen is complicating things a little on the second page, but based on my overall reaction, I think it’
s the same ink as well. There’s nothing else that leaps out at me.”
“Okay,” Mal said, taking the paper back from me. “Let’s parse the words and see what comes up.”
“Let’s start with the phrase the triplet’s ova,” I said. “It seems significant.”
“And I have an idea about what it might mean,” Cora said. “All of the other clues have referenced places in and around Milwaukee, and I think this one does, too. I think it might be The Domes.”
“The Domes?” Mal said with a questioning look.
“It’s a trio of geodesic domes built in Mitchell Park,” I said.
I was about to continue, but Cora interrupted and corrected me. “Technically they aren’t geodesic domes because they’re hive- or egg-shaped.” She flashed me a smile and then looked at Mal. “It’s a horticultural conservatory, and each dome has a different theme. One features a desert climate, one is tropical, and the third showcases whatever flowering plants are in season. They put on a variety of light shows and other events all year long, and during the winter months, they have a farmers’ market housed in an attached greenhouse.”
“That makes sense, given that the phrase dig it up is used,” Mal said, looking at the poem. “Three horticultural domes and a greenhouse with a farmers’ market is a lot of territory to cover,” he added with a frown. “Any idea what part of the place we’re supposed to look in?”
“I think the hint for that is in these smudges,” I said, pointing to the faint green marks. “I need to figure out what they’re from.”
“That’s going to be hard to do this time of year,” Cora said. “You’re going to have to go there and walk through the place to see if you can trigger a matching reaction.”
I nodded, trying to think of an easier way to do it but coming up blank. “It looks like I’m in for another scavenger hunt,” I grumbled. I was growing as weary of this game as the letter writer apparently was.
“I can go with you,” Mal said.
“Here’s something that will make things a lot easier for you,” Cora said, reading something on the screen of her laptop. “Both the desert and the tropical domes are currently closed for repairs.” She flashed me a happy smile. “That leaves you with only one dome to go through. If you want, I can run a list of plants that have yellow-green pollen.”
I shook my head. “I suspect it will be a lengthy list, and I’d rather rely on my synesthetic responses to help me identify the source. It’s not just the sight of the pollen I react to; there’s the smell and feel of it, too.” I looked at Mal, biting the corner of my lower lip. “I really want to touch these smudges with my bare fingers,” I said. “I know that means compromising the evidence, but so far there hasn’t been any evidence to compromise. Based on past experience, this letter won’t be any different. And even if there are other prints on it, mine could be identified and eliminated from any that are found, right?”
Mal gave me a tentative, hesitant nod. “I suppose,” he said.
I didn’t wait for him to reconsider. I ripped off the glove on my right hand and then ran my index finger over the largest of the yellow-green smears. Almost instantly, I saw a green and white line with a sharp, jagged edge that arced over my field of vision.
Mal and Cora both stared at me, waiting for me to tell them what reaction, if any, I had. So I filled them in. “I think with the smell responses I can zero in on the type of plant once I’m there, but I may have to touch the pollen in them as well, to narrow it down.”
Cora, who was tapping away on her keyboard nearly nonstop—sometimes without even looking at it or the computer screen—said, “The two domes that are closed do help us some, but there is a small wrench in the works that will make things a little harder for you: the farmers’ market. There’s the possibility that this pollen came from something being sold there rather than a plant in the open dome. So you’ll probably have to visit both places.”
“Maybe,” I said, unconvinced. “But I’m going to start in the open dome because the poem mentioned digging. To me that implies dirt and plants. If we strike out there, we can hit up the farmers’ market.”
“That makes sense, I suppose,” Cora said.
“We may have a bigger problem, however,” I said. “This is another letter with one more deadline, but who knows if it will remain applicable after that article in the paper this morning. If the letter writer sees that article, they’re bound to get ticked off, and that might make her—assuming we’re right about Suzanne Collier—go off on a whole different tangent. Or just kill someone out of spite.”
Mal reached over and massaged my shoulder. “We have to hope that doesn’t happen. If it does, we’ll deal with it. But in the meantime, I think we should continue along with business as usual.”
“I suppose,” I said. “But I can’t shake the feeling that this whole thing is going to blow up soon.”
“Interesting choice of words,” Cora said with a wry arch of one brow. “Because I found some information regarding some of our Capone Club members.”
“What?” I prompted. Then I quickly added, “Hold on.” I unlocked my desk drawer and fished out the list Clay had given me of possible suspects. “Let’s see if we can winnow this down any,” I said.
“I have a bad feeling I’m only going to make some of those names stick out more,” Cora said. “To start with, your new waitress, Linda, has a brother named Henry who received a dishonorable discharge from the military and now works as a mercenary, selling his services to the highest bidder. There is some speculation, though no solid proof, that he was involved in a failed bombing attempt at a nuclear site in Washington state a couple years ago.”
“I heard some rumors about that,” Mal said, “but I didn’t think it was a real thing.”
“It was scarily real,” Cora said. “The government has done a reasonably good job of keeping the details under wraps, fearing that if the public knew how close this group came to being successful, it would start a nationwide panic. But I found enough legitimate references to the incident to assure you that the attempt was very real.”
Mal shuddered and raked a hand through his hair. “The Hanford nuclear site is in the tri-cities area of Richland, Kennewick, and Pasco. That’s not all that far from where my family lives in Yakima.”
“Okay,” I said. “So Linda’s brother is someone we don’t want to cross paths with, but is there anything to indicate that Linda herself isn’t an honest, law-abiding citizen?”
“No,” Cora admitted. “But Henry is Linda’s twin, and twins are often very close. And I can’t find much information on her. She’s new to us, and she did appear during all this letter writer business, so it’s something to keep in mind.”
“Okay, what else?” I asked.
Cora looked over at Mal. “How extensive of a background check does the police department do when hiring on new recruits?”
“Quite extensive,” Mal said. “And just to get into the academy, you have to go through psychological testing, physical testing, and drug testing, as well as a thorough background check. Any significant criminal history, gang involvement, or membership in a group considered to be subversive is an automatic disqualification. And a lot of places will require candidates to undergo a lie detector test, even though the reliability of the test results is often questioned.”
“Why do you ask?” I said. “Did you find something on Tyrese or Nick?” Since they were the two regular participants in the Capone Club, I gathered that whatever Cora had found would be related to one of these two men.
“I found something regarding Nick that is a bit worrisome, but the information is from social media, not anything official. Apparently, an ex-girlfriend of his has friended his ex-wife on Facebook.”
“Nick was married?”
Cora nodded. “To one Victoria Lennon Kavinsky. They tied the knot five years ago, and it unraveled two years later. The girlfriend followed, though I’m not sure if she was in the picture before the marriage fell apart or aft
er. Her name is Cheryl Muldoon. Apparently, Nick doesn’t like his women to have a mind of their own. Cheryl and Victoria have made several comments about their shared abuser on a Facebook page set up for victims of abuse. They don’t mention Nick by name, just by his initials, but I tracked down Victoria when I saw she was an ex of his and still uses her married last name.”
“Interesting, but I don’t see how it’s particularly relevant to us and what’s going on here,” I said.
“Oh, come on, Mack,” Cora said, looking at me with disbelief. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that Nick has a major crush on you.”
“He does?”
Cora nodded, and I looked over at Mal, seeking verification. He nodded too.
“Wow. I had no idea,” I said. “I guess I’ve been so distracted by everything else that’s been going on that I didn’t pick up on the clues.”
“I noticed the dirty looks he gives me when he thinks I’m not looking,” Mal said.
“There’s something else about Nick that may shed some light,” Cora said. “He has a bit of a gambling problem. More than a bit, actually. He’s lost some big bucks, and based on what a cop makes in this town, I’m guessing a little under-the-table cash from someone looking for a henchman would be rather appealing.”
“You think Nick might be Suzanne’s helper?” I said.
Cora gave an ambivalent shrug.
“But he’s a cop. Do you really think he’d kill someone for money?” I said, still not willing to believe. Then I realized how hypocritical I was being, given that Jimmy was high on my list.
“People do all kinds of horrible things for money,” Mal said. “I’ve seen it time and time again. Money and love are the roots of nearly all evil.”
“Do we have any idea where Nick was on the night Lewis was killed?” I asked, still looking for an out. I liked Nick—not in the way he apparently liked me—but I didn’t want to believe he was a cold-blooded killer. I recalled his reactions to a murder I had helped Duncan with, the death of a young woman who was a single mother. Nick had been appalled by the senselessness of it all. Or at least he had appeared to be.
A Toast to Murder Page 15