“Fine. Then we’ll counter with how you obstructed a murder investigation by withholding information and leaving us to find our own way. If that screwed up your case, then you only have yourself to blame. Last time I checked, murder trumps fraud every time.”
“I warned you to stay in your own county. I’m running a multi-state investigation. An investigation that you’ve jeopardized.”
I realized what had set him off. “Buddy Smith. Wilmer’s Convenience Corner.”
“Yes. I’ve been working on him for several months. Since a terrible incident with the girl’s cat. He’s low on the food chain, but I’m sure he knows who’s above him. He just hasn’t gotten comfortable enough to talk. Now you’ve really spooked him.”
“Were you tailing me?”
“No. Buddy called me right after you left. He thought you’d been sent to sniff out if he was turning sides. Now he’s clammed up on me. If I bust him, it could send everyone else underground and we don’t have all the players pegged yet.” He stepped up on the porch closer to me. “So, do you understand how your fishing around is unraveling our whole operation?”
“We weren’t fishing. We were targeting a very specific lead.”
“Yeah? What was that?”
What the hell, I thought. He needed to know Tommy Lee and I weren’t Laurel and Hardy. “A company we believe transfers the funds from the EBT deposits to whoever’s running the fraud. A company called Staples Sources. I pushed Buddy Smith to sell me non-qualified items to get some leverage and see his accounts payables. See if Staples Sources was one of his suppliers.”
“Why Buddy?”
“We found a list of stores tied to Toby and Sonny McKay. Buddy’s was one of them. We also learned about the dead cat and thought that made him a more likely target.”
Collier Crockett took a deep breath and seemed to calm down. “And why Staples Sources?”
“We found a number of blank invoices from the company in Rufus Taylor’s store. He was evidently filling them in to pay whatever was the share of the week’s illegal take that he owed his partners. We’ve confirmed the address of the company is bogus. Haven’t they popped up on your radar?”
Crockett shook his head. “No. We’ve been concentrating on the EBT purchase side. I remember the company name but they seemed legit. This is the first I’ve heard about blank invoices.”
“What did you tell Buddy Smith about me?”
“He gave me your name since it posted on your transaction. First time I’ve heard of an undercover operative not using an alias. Anyway, I told him to ignore you. I said if it was a test, then he’d passed and you wouldn’t be back. I tried to leverage your visit as another reason he should trust me. I can protect him against you.”
“Then if I see him again, I’ll let him know I’m a deputy. That we’re working together.”
Crockett scowled. “He’s my potential source. Whether you’re a good guy or a bad guy, you’re going to spook him. He’s nervous enough when I dress down and drop by for a chat.”
“We’ve got our own case to solve. I’ll speak to the sheriff, but as far as I’m concerned, any lead is fair game. But thanks for the heads-up. We’ll be careful.”
He pointed his finger at me. “Be more than careful, Clayton. Buddy Smith is entangled with some bad people. You could get him and his little girl killed.”
He pivoted on his heel and returned to his car. I watched him spin the tires on the gravel backing up, then lurch forward, spewing stones in his wake.
At seven-thirty the next morning, I phoned Tommy Lee and gave him the details of my confrontation with Crockett. “I told him I’d talk to you, but that I didn’t see us limiting our investigation.”
“I agree,” the sheriff said. “But we should go easy. Crockett has a point about too much attention being paid to Buddy Smith. Let’s see what we can learn about Staples Sources. I’ll talk to Crockett and work out some information exchange. When are you headed to the hospital?”
“I’m leaving now. My uncle’s supposed to be released at eleven. But don’t count on me till mid-afternoon.”
“Okay. And I’m tied up with the McKays’ funerals. I’ll ask Marge to do an Internet search on Staples Sources. Maybe we can come at them that way.”
“Maybe, but the prospect doesn’t seem very hopeful.”
“I know,” Tommy Lee commiserated. “We could be hitting a dead end and have to see where Crockett’s case leads. I’m beginning to think the Sinclairs are a red herring. We’re reading too much into them because of WITSEC.”
“We’re reading too much into them because we don’t have anything else. Damn it, Tommy Lee, all we have to show for our efforts are three fresh graves in the Twin Creeks Baptist Church cemetery.”
As I feared, Uncle Wayne’s eleven o’clock discharge didn’t happen till twelve-thirty. I offered to buy lunch from the cafeteria, but my uncle said he didn’t want to spend another minute in the hospital. So, we made a run through a Wendy’s drive-through and took food back to the funeral home.
I pulled to the rear entrance where there were fewer steps onto the back porch and into the kitchen. All was quiet. Fletcher and our assistant, Freddy Mott, were at the McKays’ burial service.
Uncle Wayne didn’t refuse my arm as he shuffled inside. Mom pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and he eased himself into it.
He looked around. “You know. This place is really quiet when nobody’s here.”
Mom and I looked at each other. Such an obvious statement was merely the preface to some other thought.
“Kinda sad,” he continued. “When this place isn’t a home. What will we call it? A funeral house? And the kitchen. I won’t be cooking any more family meals here. Guess we’ll have to call it the break room, like it’s part of some office complex.”
“Don’t be silly,” Mom said. “How many meals did you cook here?”
“Sandwiches, Connie. I made a lot of sandwiches.”
Mom laughed. “Oh, Wayne, only you would lament over a home-cooked sandwich.” She set the Wendy’s bag on the table beside him. “Now eat your store-bought one.”
My uncle chuckled and pulled out a cheeseburger.
After we ate, I helped Uncle Wayne upstairs. We had to stop on the landing a moment for him to catch his breath.
“I tell you, Barry, getting old ain’t for sissies.”
“No one ever accused you of being a sissy. The trick is to be sensible. Don’t do too much too soon.”
He tightened his grip on my arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll take the steps one at a time.”
On the second floor, he dropped my support and walked down the hall to his room. It had once been mine. I followed him in and was surprised to see he hadn’t changed it. The shelves still held the model ships and planes I’d built with my dad. Framed pictures displayed family vacations, some with Uncle Wayne, some without.
“I can box my stuff up and give you more space,” I said.
My uncle sat on the bed and looked around. “No, I like it. Reminds me of when you were a boy.” His eyes moistened. “Reminds me of when I was a boy. Not so long ago, Barry. You’ll see. It all flies by in the blink of an eye.”
I heard Fletcher’s voice downstairs and left my uncle to rest. Mom was pouring him a glass of lemonade when I entered the kitchen.
“How’d it go?” I joined him at the table and Mom set a plate of cookies between us.
“As well as expected. Small crowd. Didn’t have enough pallbearers to bring both caskets out of the church at the same time.” He shook his head. “If I never do another double funeral again, it will be too soon.”
“And Pauline McKay?”
“She seemed numb. The sheriff stood with her and her sister Nelda. He was going to escort them back to Pauline’s house. She’s tired of hiding out in Canton and wants to return home. I think he was
going to check the locks and give her some security advice.”
I hadn’t thought about Pauline McKay in a few days. Perhaps enough time had passed that she was no longer considered a threat. I hoped so. We couldn’t force her to stay in hiding.
“I know you can’t talk about a case,” Fletcher said, “but are you making any progress?”
“We’re finding some dots. Now we need to connect them.”
My phone vibrated. I checked the screen. The number was for the Sheriff’s Department switchboard.
“Sorry, I’ve got to take this.”
I rose from the chair and walked rapidly out to the privacy of the backyard. “This is Barry.”
“It’s Carol. Are you at the funeral with Tommy Lee?”
“No. What’s up?”
“Do you know a Luther Brookshire?”
“Yes. He’s a U.S. Marshal.”
“He called the department asking for Tommy Lee. I told him the sheriff was at a funeral and couldn’t take a call. He asked for you. I can patch him through.”
The phone clicked.
“Deputy Clayton?” Brookshire’s voice was tense, the words clipped.
“Yes. What’s wrong?”
“Janet Sinclair just called me. She arrived home to find Robert dead in the carport. I’m on my way there now.”
“Dead? How?”
“Shot in the head. He was executed.”
Chapter Twenty-two
I didn’t bother to go to the department or change into my uniform. I sped to the Sinclairs as fast as I could, the jeep’s hazard lights flashing and horn blaring in a desperate effort to clear the road. I called Carol our dispatcher back and told her to send EMTs to the Arbor Ridge address. I also asked her to make sure she saved the number that would have registered Brookshire’s call. I wanted to know where he’d been when he phoned.
Then I called Tommy Lee. “Robert Sinclair’s been shot and killed.”
“Where?” he asked.
“His carport. Janet found him, called Brookshire, and he called for you. Carol passed him to me since you’re with Mrs. McKay. I’m on my way. Carol’s alerting EMTs and recording time and number of Brookshire’s call, in case you want to pull a GPS location.”
“Good thinking. I’ll send out two deputies to help. Also, I’ll contact Lindsay Boyce and request their forensics.”
“You’re bringing in the FBI?”
“Yes. We’re dealing with WITSEC, and the marshals are going to go nuts. So much for never losing a witness. I want to deal with a friendly federal face. You secure the scene. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Janet Sinclair stood in the front lawn of her house and stared up into the trees. One arm was stretched across her chest with her hand clutching her opposite shoulder. The other hand held a cigarette that she puffed like it was a deep-sea diver’s air hose. I appeared to be the first responder and parked the jeep on the narrow shoulder in front of the house, leaving the driveway clear for EMTs and forensic units. I got out and tucked the Kimber pistol in the small of my back.
Janet flipped the cigarette away and ran toward me.
“Mr. Clayton, Mr. Clayton,” she cried hysterically. “They shot him. The family shot him.”
She surprised me with a fierce hug, head against my chest. “I was afraid they’d come back for me. They left the White Rose of Santona.”
“The what?”
“Their signature. By the body. Luther will know.”
I let her sob a few minutes, and then took her shoulders and gently pushed her away. “I need to check the scene. Why don’t you wait in the house? Luther Brookshire will be here soon. He’s the one who called me.” I hoped the mention of the marshal would calm her down, although at this point a dead husband, an adulteress wife, and her lover would be an unusual combination at a crime scene. I hoped my fellow deputies and Tommy Lee would arrive first.
I took her arm and steered her toward the front door and away from the carport. I couldn’t see the body, but the trunk of Janet’s Mercedes was open and a torn bag of groceries lay at the left rear corner of Robert’s SUV. Several cans of food had rolled to the edge of the sloped driveway. To my eye, the story appeared to be that Janet had returned from the grocery store, lifted the brown paper bag from the trunk, and then rounded the back of Robert’s vehicle headed for the door in the carport. I guessed the body was close to the front of the car on the driver’s side. She didn’t see it until clearing the large SUV.
We stepped up on the small front porch. The door was unlocked and I opened it. “Wait here while I check inside.” I crossed the threshold and pulled my pistol free.
The home had a formal living room, expansive kitchen, den, and a master bedroom on the first floor. Folded clothes were spread out on the king-sized bed where either Janet or a housekeeper had left them. Three bedrooms and two baths were upstairs. One of the bedrooms had been converted into a home office. Both a laptop and a desktop were on a credenza behind a wide desk. We would want to go through both and any external drives that might exist. I holstered my gun and returned to the front door.
“It’s all clear,” I said.
She sniffled and wiped her eyes with her fingers. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Whatever makes you the most comfortable. Brew some coffee. Have another cigarette. There’ll be a lot of people here soon.”
She nodded and withdrew into the living room.
I circled back and noted a dented can of corn and a shattered bottle of ranch dressing on the concrete driveway. Inside the ripped bag, I saw a box of elbow pasta and a jar of tomato sauce. Other items were underneath, but what I found most important was a receipt trapped under the pasta. I picked it up, noticed that the date and time stamp placed her in the grocery store less than forty minutes ago. I stuck the receipt in my pocket to add to whatever evidence might be forthcoming.
I moved into the carport. Robert Sinclair lay on his back by the front tire. The driver’s door was closed, so he must have stepped out, shut the door, and was either surprised by or familiar with his killer. There was no way the scene I viewed distinguished between the two possibilities. What was indisputable was the bullet hole in his forehead and two red splotches on his blue polo shirt. Blood flow had been minimal, indicating he’d died instantly. The method was a classic hit—two to the body, one to the head.
Next to his face lay a long-stemmed white rosebud. A statement? A signature?
I returned to my jeep and pulled an evidence-collecting kit from the back. It included latex gloves and clear evidence bags. I also grabbed a small flashlight.
I went in the Infiniti from the front passenger’s side. A super-sized soda cup was in the center console holder. Some files with stores names on the label tabs were on the passenger’s seat. A Snickers candy bar wrapper was wadded on the floor. I used the flashlight to peer under the seat. Nothing but wires for the position control.
The backseat was clear on the right side. I shone the light into the rear storage area. The golf clubs I’d seen on Saturday lay diagonally across the carpet. Spiked golf shoes were beside them.
Robert Sinclair’s body blocked access to the driver’s door, and I didn’t want to move it even a few inches until forensics and the M.E. had cleared it. But I could get in the back door behind the driver. The floor mat was clean. I bent down, half in and half out of the car, and reached under the driver’s seat. My gloved hand encountered a book and what felt like a tube. I placed my cheek on the rear mat and angled the flashlight so that the beam threw directly underneath the seat. It was a book. But the metal tube was a suppressor mounted to a semi-automatic pistol pointed straight at my face. I carefully lifted the gun and sealed it in an evidence bag. Through the clear plastic, I could identify it as a Beretta 92FS twenty-two caliber. The same caliber that killed Rufus Taylor and Sonny McKay.
I did the same with
the book, but not before flipping through several pages. It was a ledger of columns filled with numbers. No words, no cursive handwriting. Sections were divided under five-digit headings. I suspected one of those five-digit codes stood for Taylor’s Short Stop. Another for Wilmer’s Convenience Corner. I was holding the master accounts for the network of stores engaged in the food stamp fraud conspiracy. I would probably become FNS Investigator Collier Crockett’s new best friend.
I stood back from the car and looked down at the body sprawled before me. Robert Sinclair, aka Robert Santona, had received justice dispensed by his own family with bullets and a flower while his own weapon lay less than three feet away.
The sounds of sirens wailed ever louder. I turned and walked down the driveway, ready to wave the cavalry into position.
Deputies Reece Hutchins and Steve Wakefield had quickly established a perimeter. We knew the activities of police cars and vans would soon attract the neighbors.
Tommy Lee arrived about ten minutes ahead of U.S. Marshal Luther Brookshire, which gave me the chance to show the sheriff what I’d discovered beneath the driver’s seat.
“For the time being, we keep these items to ourselves,” he said.
“Robert’s death is our case?”
He gave a wry smile. “Up until my niece yanks it away for the Bureau. I know Lindsay well enough that she’s not going to let an interstate mob hit go to her Podunk uncle. She knows me well enough to know I won’t back off until I’m sure we got the man who killed Rufus and Sonny.”
I nodded, and then saw Brookshire’s green Escape skid to a stop in front of my jeep. “Your buddy Luther’s going to want a piece of the case as well. His protected witness got whacked.”
“He’s already had one piece too many. But I’ll play nice. Let’s go hear Mrs. Sinclair’s statement before Luther has a chance to coach her. He can sit in, but it’s our investigation.”
Tommy Lee hurried to intercept the marshal as he ran up the lawn. I went in the carport door and through the kitchen to the living room where I found Janet standing in front of a bay window. If she’d brewed coffee, she wasn’t having any. One hand held a cigarette, the other a glass of whiskey.
Secret Undertaking Page 20