by TJ O'Connor
“I hope it means his demise.”
“Oh, Ernie, stop. This is too important for you to be so one-sided. Please, think about that.”
“I do think about that, Angela. Every day. And there is too much at stake to make any mistakes. The county is spending millions on that project—millions to Byrd. No one seems concerned about the local heritage at stake.”
“It’s only been a few weeks.” She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair, watching the anger swell in Ernie’s cheeks. “And you’re wrong. The county does care. That’s why the judge assigned me the research.”
“Byrd’s project is a disgrace to this county’s history. Why, our Civil War heritage—some of the deepest in the state—is at risk. Byrd has no respect, he may …”
“I know that, Ernie, but …”
“Some of Mosby’s Rangers are buried here. General Jackson and countless others left their marks, too.”
“I know, I know, Ernie.” Angel waved her surrender. “No one disputes Winchester’s history. But, you know the rub. Every time someone wants to dig a hole, the historical societies charge in and try to protect the land. The courts have to get involved. Ernie, people are frustrated on both sides.”
“You don’t sound like a historian, Angela.”
She recoiled. “Why, because I think there has to be a balance between history and development?”
“Balance? The developers are destroying our history and the newspapers put it on the back page.”
“Well, not this month.”
“That’s right. Kelly’s Dig accomplished that.”
Kelly’s Dig, officially Kelly Orchard Farms, is a swath of land in the northeast side of the county. The farm dated back to the Civil War and it had at least two known battlefields within its boundaries. The land changed hands dozens of times over the last century. Several years ago, a small parcel of it was quietly sold to the county. Then, two months ago, Tyler Byrd broke ground on the highway bypass project.
Then the war began anew.
Ernie and the Virginia Battlefield Historical Preservation Foundation—one of his favorite charities—tried to stop Byrd. They failed. Roads and jobs, as it turned out, were in higher demand than another battlefield historical marker. Ernie couldn’t stop the bulldozers.
Nineteenth-century skeletons and artifacts could, however.
During Byrd’s initial excavation, a crew unearthed the fragmented remains of two human skeletons. Along with them, uniform paraphernalia, remnants of munitions and weapons, coins and other historical artifacts, too. Something appeared to have happened at that site—something historically important. Within hours, shovels and hardhats were ushered from the site to make room for the medical examiner and sheriff. The Civil War paraphernalia convinced the coroner it was not a twentieth-century crime scene, but a possible Civil War gravesite. Then the real battle started.
The newspapers called it a fluke. The judge called it, “cease and desist.”
The court ordered Kelly’s Dig protected as a possible historical landmark and interment sight. Kelly’s Dig, the skeletal remains, and the dozens of Civil War artifacts unearthed became the ward of the Virginia Historical Society. So said a dozen state and federal laws. Lawyers marched into battle and their legal cannons raged. Counter-claims and motions piled up. Bulldozers and dump trucks sat idle.
Tyler Byrd began sweating thousand dollar bills.
“Angela,” Ernie said. “I’m sorry. I’m being difficult.”
“Well, maybe just a little.” She smiled. “The District Judge wants my assessment on how to protect the site and continue the project—at the same time. That means working with Tyler. That’s all. André is doing most of the work anyway.”
“Of course you have to work with Tyler.” The way Ernie said “Tyler” suggested Angel was giving aid and comfort to the enemy. “I’m rather emotional about these matters—forgive me. My foundation can’t match Byrd’s financial power.”
“It doesn’t have to. That’s why the judge assigned me.”
He nodded. “Yes, I know.”
“You have to trust me, Ernie.”
“I do.” He changed the topic. “Dinner later in the week? Perhaps stay at the house for a few weeks?”
“No, I’m fine, really.”
“I’m worried about you, Angela,” he said. “I understand your loss. I do. But you’ve been acting rather odd—and Braddock has, too.”
Angel’s face reddened. “Odd?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend you. But sometimes you act as though Oliver isn’t gone. And Braddock, well, he acts like he doesn’t care.”
seventeen
As soon as Ernie left, Angel folded her arms and pouted. Then with a few mumbled words, she launched herself into a torrent of work. I sat watching her sifting mail and throwing files around her desk. She was angry and hurt and would need to exhaust herself in work until it abated. That could take hours.
I got bored after five minutes. So, I did what I would have when I was alive—snoop around the department and see what I could find to amuse myself.
I found what I was looking for down the hall.
Low murmurs from the conference room sounded like trouble to me. Nosey as ever—that’s what made me a good cop—I stuck my head in and found the missing Carmen Delgado.
Carmen was an attractive woman. She was Angel’s height, with dark Latin features and a friendly, though sassy, personality. She was nearing forty, but that didn’t stop the students who frequented the office from flirting. Heaven help any of them who dared to make a play—she was hell on wheels and could draw, cut, and quarter you without getting her makeup smeared.
If I weren’t married to Angel … well, it’s too late anyway.
Carmen was sitting at the end of the conference table opposite Detectives Spence and Clemens. Both men were stone faced and sipping steaming paper cups of coffee. Spence scribbled on his notepad. Clemens sat idle.
Carmen did not look happy.
“Detective, I can’t help you,” she said. “I have work to do. Can I go?”
“Sure, sure.” Spence leaned forward in his chair and tapped his pen against his temple. “Now, Miss Delgata …”
“Delgado.”
“Yeah, Delgado. Why would someone suggest that Angela wanted her husband out of the way?”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“They wouldn’t.” Carmen slapped her hand on the table. “Detective, let me set you straight. Dr. Tucker is an honest and hardworking woman. She’s admired on campus. She is, er was, crazy about Tuck. He was a good man, too. She’s devastated. Anyone who …”
“Please understand,” Clemens interjected, “we’re trying to find his killer. We have to run down every lead.”
“Yeah, every lead.” Spence made more notes. Then he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. To Carmen, he quipped, “Listen, we have to know if there was anything going on with Angela. You know, any foolin’ around or any juicy gossip. Seems like her secretary …”
“Department Office Manager,” Carmen corrected. “No. There was nothing Dr. Tucker was doing that should interest you.”
“What about Braddock?” Spence asked. “You know him well?”
The question seemed to startle Carmen and she flushed. “You’re not suggesting …”
“Miss Delgado, please,” Clemens said. “You know Braddock, right?”
“Bear and Tuck were partners—best friends.” Carmen folded her arms. “Bear is a great guy. Everyone loves him.”
“Oh, really? Everyone?”
She flashed him her death eyes.
Spence wasn’t fazed. “Bear ever come around without Tuck?”
She didn’t answer.
“Come on, you know what I mean.” Spence took a long sip of coffee and watched her over the rim
of the cup. “Has Angela ever met him elsewhere?”
“Well,” Carmen’s face flushed ever so slightly. “Email here and there—we all do. And, yes, I think they met sometimes for coffee and such. But that doesn’t mean …”
“Where—here or somewhere else?” Clemens asked. “When?”
“I’m sure it’s innocent. Angela always tells me how wonderful Bear is and what a good man he is. They were best friends, they would never …”
“Did they ever meet for lunch or dinner?” Spence pressed. “I mean, you know, as friends?”
“Sure. Lunch a few times—I joined them quite often. I’m going through a painful divorce and they’re my good friends.”
“Oh? How good?”
She ignored him. “Sometimes Bear would come by late if Angela and I were working evenings. We both worked late hours at the end of semesters. Bear sometimes came by—so did Tuck.”
“How cozy.” Spence didn’t look up as he jotted on his pad. “Everyone is such pals around here.”
The little twerp was irritating me and I wanted to see his notepad. When I did, I couldn’t make out his handwriting, but I didn’t have to. Spence was digging away at his favorite motive—Angel or Bear killed me. Now, Carmen fell into his trap and gave him enough to chase his theory. Angel was now his prime suspect.
Clemens asked, “How close were they?”
“Well …”
“How close?” Spence demanded.
She shrugged. “Ask her.”
“I will,” Spence said. “Anyone else ever hang around Angela—a lot I mean?”
“Well, maybe.” Carmen was hedging and doing a bad job of it. “Professor Stuart, but he’s her boss. And Tyler Byrd’s called several times. A few times Angela went out afterwards. You need to talk with her. She asked me not to discuss it with anyone—especially Professor Stuart.”
Oh, really? Angel never mentioned that to me. Spence was scribbling again, and when I looked over at Carmen, she was watching him too, anxious that he was taking so long making notes. As much as I hated to admit it, Spence was learning things I never knew.
“I’m sure it was nothing,” she added.
“Interesting,” Spence said, “another suitor?”
“No, Detective. You have it all wrong.”
Clemens held up a hand. “Now, Miss Delgado, let’s get back to Bear. Did you ever know him and Angela to do anything unusual? You know, secretive or anything?”
“You’re saying they’re having an affair?” Carmen wagged a finger at him. “They aren’t.”
“Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t.”
Spence’s cell phone rang. He took the call and announced where he and Clemens were. Then he added, “And Miss Belgada suggested that Bear may have been involved with Dr. Tucker. Interesting, huh, Cap?”
“You bastard.” I grabbed the cell phone in his hand and tried to wrench it free.
Rage overflowed from me. My fingers tingled and I felt them grip his cell phone. I wrenched Spence’s hand and phone away from his ear. Energy surged through me. The rush felt like I’d mainlined a hundred cups of coffee with a five-pound sugar chaser.
Spence’s face flashed surprise and he twisted toward me, unseeing, at the same instant I let go of his hand. For that instant, our eyes met but he recovered and returned to his call.
His voice was edgy and uncertain. “Yeah, yeah, Captain. I’ll get back to you.” He put the cell on the table.
“You bastard.” Carmen was on her feet. “I never said that. You twisted my words.”
“Did I?” he said. “We never said ‘affair.’ You did.”
Clemens frowned. “Come on, let it go, Mike.”
“Go to hell, the two of you.” Carmen was done. “Leave or I’ll call security.”
Spence laughed. “We’re the cops, sweetie. Security can kiss my ass. I’m not through with you yet.”
“Yes you are.” Carmen nearly ran out the door.
“Fine, Miss Delgado,” Spence called after her. “Have it your way. We’ll be back.”
“You better lighten up, Mike,” Clemens said. “She’s pissed.”
“Mark my words, partner. She’s hiding something. She’s covering for Angela—or Bear—I’ll bet you anything.”
“I think you’re out of your mind, Mikey. You better hope Delgado doesn’t tell Bear about this.”
“Screw him.” Spence winked at Clemens and started dialing his cell phone again. “Let’s see if Professor Stuart can spill on Angela, too. She seems to be a real popular girl around here. Real popular.”
Enough.
I grabbed his cell phone with one hand and slapped his coffee cup sitting on the table with the other. The cup flipped forward and dumped its steaming contents into Spence’s lap.
“Son of a bitch.” He jumped up, swatting at his crotch. “What the …”
“How did you do that?” Clemens roared.
I went to the doorway and watched Carmen throwing office supplies around her desk. Her answers to Spence’s questions bothered me. Her body language suggested something I didn’t like—deception. I didn’t want to admit it, but Spence was right about one thing.
Carmen Delgado was hiding something.
eighteen
Woof.
Hercule? When I turned around to see what Spence and Clemens were doing, Hercule barked again. Instead of the conference room, I was back in my den. Herc was sitting in the center of the room, head cocked and tail wagging.
He moaned and lay down. My popping in and out was unsettling him. It was unsettling me, too.
“Sorry, pal. I’m trying to get the hang of all this.”
Woof.
He followed me into the kitchen where I sat at the table and considered Carmen Delgado’s interrogation. She had worked for Angel for years and her loyalty was unquestionable. Still, she was concealing something. That bothered me. After all, this was a murder investigation. What was so secret that she felt compelled to hide it now?
I went to the kitchen sink and gazed out the window. It was sunny outside and a faint breeze was blowing through the half-open window. The air smelled crisp and fragrant with the musty, almost sweet smell that came with fall. It was my favorite time of year. The curtain fluttered and I noticed a pair of Angel’s earrings on the windowsill. She was forever leaving her jewelry lying about. Twice her wedding ring fell from the sill into the sink drain and I had to pay a plumber for an emergency job. Not to retrieve the ring, but to repair my retrieving the ring; I’m terrible with tools.
The earrings now on the sill were gold hoops with two garnet stones affixed at the base. Each had a small diamond set between them. I didn’t recognize them. While not unusual, Carmen’s recent interview sent a tickle of doubt into me. The earrings were strangely alluring as the sun glinted off the diamonds and sent strobes of glitter into my eyes. When I reached out and touched them, they seized me.
The room began to close as the diamond’s glitter flowed over me like a river of light.
The familiar tingle of electricity grew inside me. Before I could warn Hercule, the room spiraled into darkness and was gone. The journey was not the comforting one I was growing accustomed to. Where the strange, flowing euphoria had filled me before, dread did now. As the room disappeared, a vacuum drained my energy—weakening me, drinking every drop of strength. The glitter exploded and was gone, leaving me swallowed in darkness. Ahead of me—at least I think it was ahead of me—was a round, brilliant beacon. It grew from a pinprick in the black veil to a blinding aurora. The light was driving straight at me like a freight train. Then, just as it reached me, it burst in a brilliant flash.
It was gone—extinguished. Blackness returned.
_____
I sensed the rain first—musty dampness of evening showers. I looked around but couldn’t get my bearings. Cars and trucks
surrounded me—rows of all makes and models. Not far away was a streetlamp that bathed the vehicles in cones of opaque, rain-streaked light. Farther away, silhouettes of buildings and tall trees looked like a strange, evil skyline. The panorama was dreamlike—faint, hazy images surrounded by nothing but the feeling that I didn’t belong.
I was standing in a parking lot. A dark, rainy, unrecognizable parking lot. It was night and I had no idea which day or place. Something told me it was not the “when” I left moments before either. The only thing that was certain was that I was alone. Not just alone, but isolated and vulnerable. That unnerved me—unnerved me as it hadn’t since my demise.
My limbs wouldn’t respond. They were frozen in place. Unable to break free and find a familiar landmark, doom washed over me. An eerie, penetrating cold touched me. I looked around as a faint, almost benign sense of familiarity ebbed in. Terror followed it.
I saw him.
A figure, obscured in the trees beside the far edge of the parking lot, edged toward the buildings a hundred yards away. The figure was tall with broad shoulders, but I couldn’t see more than an outline. The movements were a man’s stride and boldness. As he passed near a street lamp, he pressed back into the trees and hid from discovery. He emerged near the building’s courtyard where it emptied into the parking lot. He stopped and melted into the trees again. I lost him just beyond the fringes of light.
I knew he was there. I could feel him. I could feel his danger.
Fear tightened its grip and I felt sick, helpless, and weak. I tried to move but my roots seemed more firmly planted than ever. When the second figure appeared out of the courtyard, I knew my role.
A witness.
The second figure came from somewhere in the courtyard and walked into the parking lot with short, quick steps. For an instant, I saw the dim outline of a woman’s face before she pulled her raincoat hood tighter over her head. She stopped for a second and studied the parking lot, then hurried into the first lane of cars. She hesitated under a streetlamp, perhaps believing the light was safety. My senses burned and recognition singed my nerves, sending alarm bells raging in my head. Her coat was a tan, double-breasted English trench coat. I knew the coat. I knew the shop in Old Town where I’d bought it just a year ago. It was Angel’s coat.