Secret Undertaking

by Mark de Castrique

  “We’re going to need a statement now, Mrs. Sinclair.”

  She turned to me. “Can I give it to Luther?”

  “He can sit in, but right now your husband’s murder is our jurisdiction.”

  She sighed and took a healthy swallow from her glass. “Funny, isn’t it? Me coming to you for those funeral arrangements. I didn’t know you were a deputy. Guess you’ll be doing double duty when we meet about getting Robert back to Paterson.”

  “We’ll do that later.” I glanced around the living room. There was a plush white sofa and expensive-looking wingback chairs in matching navy blue upholstery. I gestured to the sofa. “Why don’t you sit with me? The sheriff and Marshal Brookshire can take the chairs.”

  She stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray on an end table by one of the chairs and joined me on the sofa.

  Tommy Lee and Brookshire came in through the front door. The marshal was clearly agitated and looked like he could barely restrain himself from running to her.

  “Janet! Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she said calmly. “I was at the grocery store. I guess the killers didn’t want to wait for me. So, what now? Identity number three?”

  “Yes. I’ll get you out of here tonight.”

  Tommy Lee held up a hand. “Before anyone goes anywhere else, we need to learn what happened here. Marshal Brookshire,” Tommy Lee said formally, “you’re welcome to sit in, but right now this is our case and Barry and I will do the questioning. Why don’t you sit over there?” The sheriff pointed to the wing-back chair farther from Janet.

  Brookshire complied, sitting on the edge of the cushion and still clearly agitated.

  Tommy Lee took a notebook and pen from his pocket. “Go ahead, Barry.”

  I angled myself on the sofa to face her. “Why don’t you tell us what happened today? Walk us through from the time you woke up to when I arrived.”

  “Well, I slept till around seven-thirty. That’s when I usually get up. Robert was already gone. He’s an early riser and he had some appointments in Murphy.”

  Murphy was a town in the most western tip of North Carolina and nearly two hours from Gainesboro.

  “Did you speak to him?” I asked.

  “No. He’s sweet to get up quietly and not wake me.” Her voice caught. “I didn’t even get to tell him goodbye.” She glanced in the direction of the carport where her husband lay on the concrete floor. Then she looked at Brookshire. “Luther knows how close we were. How much I loved him.”

  Brookshire shifted uncomfortably. He knew that we knew the truth.

  “And so you got up,” I said, trying to keep her focused.

  “Yes. Robert had started the coffeemaker. I turned on the Today Show and had a cup with a bowl of yogurt and fruit. Then I started some laundry. Now that I’m not working, I try to keep to a schedule and Monday is laundry day. Most of Robert’s clothes are perma-press. They’re samples of the casual wear and sports lines he represents. I touched up a few items with the iron and by then it was nearly ten. I was getting a little cabin fever and knew I had to buy a few things for supper. So, I decided to treat myself to an early lunch at the country club and then do my shopping.”

  “Did you meet anyone in particular?” I asked.

  “I joined some women I occasionally play bridge with. Linda Albany and Chrissy Perry. They’ll confirm my story. I ran by the bank, stopped at Ingles and picked up pasta, tomato sauce, greens for a salad, and a few other items I needed. Robert said he’d be back mid-afternoon, and we’d talked about squeezing in nine holes of golf so I didn’t make the grocery shopping a prolonged affair. It was probably about two-thirty when I started for home. Robert had texted me that he was getting off the interstate. I replied that I was at the grocery store.”

  “What time was that?”

  She thought a moment. “I was in the produce department. I guess around two-fifteen. The time stamp should be on my phone.”

  “So, you didn’t speak to him.”

  “Correct. When he said he was exiting the interstate, I knew he was about ten minutes away. I expected to be home about fifteen or twenty minutes after him, change clothes, and then we’d take his car. His clubs were already loaded.”

  “All right. And did you come straight here from Ingles?”

  She swallowed and then nodded. “It must have been around ten to three. As I expected, his car was here. I pulled to the right, where I always park. I popped the trunk and carried the single bag. Usually he’ll come out to see if I need help, but I assumed he was probably changing back in our bedroom. I walked around his car…” She stopped and caught her breath. “I walked around the back of the car and saw him lying there. I dropped the bag and ran to him. I thought he’d had a heart attack. Then I saw it.”

  “It?” I prompted. “The bullet wounds?”

  She shook her head. “The rose. The White Rose of Santona.”

  “Yes. You mentioned that. What is it?”

  She looked at Brookshire. “I’d rather Luther tell you. He knows more than I do.”

  Tommy Lee and I stared at Brookshire, waiting for him to pick up the story.

  He leaned forward in the chair. “First, I need to get something out in the open. Robert and Janet Sinclair were in WITSEC. Their former names were Robert and Joan Santona.”

  So, Brookshire was going to play it straight, I thought. He gave no acknowledgment that we’d already discussed their true identities.

  “Thanks to their cooperation with the FBI, prosecutors were able to convict Bobby Santona and some of his key associates of racketeering. We took Robert and Joan into Witness Protection and spread the rumor that they’d been abducted and killed. You see, Robert is Bobby Santona’s son and his role in the conviction of his father would be unforgivable.”

  “Why did he turn?” I asked.

  Brookshire looked at Janet. She gave a slight nod.

  “There were some funds that went missing,” Brookshire said. “Accusations were leveled at Robert and Joan. Robert became fearful, especially for his wife’s safety. We offered them a fresh start.”

  And in exchange for Robert’s betrayal of his own family, Joan, aka Janet, started an affair with her handler. But I kept that thought to myself.

  “And the rose?” I asked.

  “It’s never been proven, but the story is that whenever an informant or enemy of the family is killed, a white rose is left as a calling card. Some of the mob hits of the other families are more gruesome. Severed genitals, missing fingers, sliced-off ears. You get the picture. Warnings to anyone who would dare cross them.” Brookshire sighed. “Looks like Robert didn’t heed our warnings.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Brookshire looked at Janet. “Tell him.”

  “Robert went back to Paterson for his father’s funeral. He wore a disguise, if you can believe it. Fake beard. Glasses. I told him he was crazy. That was why I came to you about funeral arrangements. I was afraid his violation of the marshals’ rules would lead Robert’s family straight to us. I begged him not to go. When he insisted, I urged him to keep at a distance. I didn’t mean for him to climb a goddammed tree.”

  “And he came back with a broken leg,” I said. “My wife treated him.”

  “Yes. I wanted to contact Luther immediately. I thought we’d have to move again, but Robert insisted he’d gotten away before anyone saw his car.” She looked at Brookshire. “I guess he was wrong. Dead wrong.”

  “Don’t worry,” Brookshire said. “We’ll get you resettled.”

  I looked at Tommy Lee. He nodded for me to continue.

  “When you found your husband’s body, did you go in the house?”

  “No. I was afraid. I called Luther and told him what happened. He suggested I get in my car and drive into town, but I couldn’t just run away leaving Robert like that. Luther call
ed back a few minutes later and said you were on the way. I waited in the front yard where you saw me.”

  “Why didn’t you go to a neighbor’s house?”

  She shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking that clearly. We really don’t know our neighbors. And I thought if anyone was waiting for me, they would have shot me as soon as I got out of the car. Like they did Robert.”

  “But you didn’t go into the house,” I said.

  “Well, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure, was I?”

  “But the doors were unlocked. Both the front and the one to the carport.”

  She gave me a humorless smile. “One of the nice things about living down here. We never lock our doors. Back in New Jersey, our house would have been stripped before we reached the main road.”

  “You left your doors unlocked, but your husband carried a pistol.”

  Her eyes widened. “He what?”

  “I found a pistol under the driver’s seat.”

  “That’s news to me. Luther, did you know about it?”

  “No,” the marshal answered. “Maybe he carried it because he traveled so much.”

  “Did he have a permit to carry?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Brookshire said. “It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “How much do you know about your husband’s business?”

  “He was successful. He liked his clients. We have a climate-controlled storage unit where he keeps his samples. We’re not rich but we’re comfortable.”

  “How’s he paid?”

  “He has a base salary and then a commission schedule.”

  “Is he ever paid in cash?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “A joint account?”

  She shook her head. “He has a business account, then we have a joint account, and I have an account of my own. I pick up seasonal work with H&R Block. My background’s accounting. That’s how Robert and I met. A continuing education class.”

  “How long had you been married?”

  “Had,” she repeated, recognizing everything about her husband was now past tense. “Thursday next it would have been fifteen years. We were going to Kiawah Island to celebrate.” She covered her eyes with one hand. A shudder visibly ran through her body.

  “How much longer do we need to go on?” Brookshire asked.

  “Till we’ve covered everything.” Tommy Lee flipped through his notes. “Did you ever travel with your husband?”

  “No. The mountain roads make me carsick, and there was nothing for me to do.”

  “Did you ever meet any of his customers?”

  “A few times. Robert would have dinners or cocktails at the club. I attended when it was a spousal event.”

  “So, you were alone most days.”

  “Except during tax season. Then I go into the H&R Block offices. Sometimes here, sometimes Asheville. It depends on where I’m needed.”

  “And tax season is when?”

  She smiled. “Longer than it used to be. Now they want me mid-January through April fifteenth. Three times they’ve asked me to take a full-time job.” She paused. “Maybe I’ll need one.” She looked at Brookshire. “Wherever I wind up.”

  Not if Archie got the insurance policies changed, I thought. The woman could live anywhere in style as long as she collected before WITSEC gave her a new name.

  “Barry also found a ledger book,” Tommy Lee said. “It was under the seat with the gun. Do you know what it contains?”

  Janet shook her head. “It would have to be for his work. Maybe orders or payments due. Do you think Robert was involved in something illegal?”

  “We don’t want to just assume that the killer came from the family. If Robert was involved in something illegal, then he could have had other enemies.”

  Her jaw clenched. “My husband is dead in the carport, the Rose of Santona by his side. He helped bring his own father to justice and now you’re accusing him of a crime. Something like this food scam thing.”

  I glanced at Brookshire. His face turned red.

  “They’re not accusing you of anything,” Brookshire said. “We’re all trying to do our jobs. To protect you and to find your husband’s killer.”

  Janet Sinclair buried her face in her hands. “I know. I know.”

  Deputy Reece Hutchins stepped into the living room. “Special Agent Boyce is here, Sheriff. She and her forensics team.”

  “Thanks. Barry and I will be right out.”

  “You brought the FBI?” Brookshire exclaimed.

  Janet’s head snapped up. “Why?”

  “Because if this White Rose of Santona is the real thing, we’ve got an interstate murder of a federally protected witness. The FBI has resources way beyond our department. They’re our best hope of finding your husband’s killer.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Then bring them on. If my Robert’s going into the family plot, I want as many of his despicable relatives going into the ground with him.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Tommy Lee told Reece to wait in the living room with Brookshire and Janet Sinclair while he and I briefed Special Agent Lindsay Boyce.

  We found Tommy Lee’s niece in the carport. She had gloved and booted and was bending over the body with a member of her forensic team.

  “When you get a chance, Agent Boyce,” the sheriff called, “Barry and I will be at my patrol car.”

  She looked over her shoulder. “Be there in a sec.”

  Tommy Lee and I walked to the bottom of the driveway to where he’d parked on the opposite shoulder. We both leaned against the front fender and watched the techs work.

  “Are you going to hold anything back from Lindsay?” I asked.

  “No. We’ll give her everything, including Brookshire’s affair.”

  “What does she already know?”

  “I briefed her over the weekend about the Sinclairs and the potential that they could be linked to our food stamp scam. She wasn’t that familiar with the Santona case in New Jersey, but she was requesting the file. If she’s got it, I doubt she’s had time to do much with it. But she’ll run with this investigation. A dead, supposedly protected, witness will be high-profile in the Bureau.”

  “What happens to us?”

  Tommy Lee shrugged. “Ballistics will either show Robert Sinclair was killed by the same weapon as Sonny and Rufus, or it won’t. The same can be said for the gun under the driver’s seat.”

  “And if nothing matches the ballistics from Sonny and Rufus?”

  “Then we press on. But Lindsay will take over Sinclair’s murder because the non-match with our murders lends credence to a professional hit out of New Jersey. Likewise, if the gun under the seat isn’t a match for us, then it means we’ve got another player in the game. If it is a match and Collier Crockett can get Buddy Smith at Wilmer’s Convenience Corner to either confirm that Sinclair had threatened him or that a section of numbers in the general ledger matches what he was reporting, then I think we are done. The deceased Robert Sinclair will be our killer. Then Crockett can mop up his end as he identifies and arrests complicit cardholders and store owners.”

  Tommy Lee looked back at the carport. “Here comes Lindsay. Let me lead and you can fill in whatever I miss.”

  The Special Agent in charge of the FBI’s Asheville resident agency cut an impressive figure as she walked toward us. Trim and fit, she wore her dark blue pinstripe suit like she was some Wall Street executive, yet her short brown hair was still long enough to bounce with each stride. Her pale blue eyes sparkled in the late afternoon sun, and with her back to her colleagues, she flashed us a brilliant smile.

  “So, Uncle, you ask me to do a favor for you on Saturday and then dump a body on me on Monday. I can hardly wait till tomorrow. What’s next?”

  “What’s next is you’re wrapping up my
case. Barry found a pistol and a potentially incriminating ledger book that were hidden under the driver’s seat.”

  “Guns N’ Roses. So, are you keeping the gun and giving me the rose?”

  “No, you get the whole package, provided you run me an expedited ballistics report.”

  “Okay. That it? A gun and a ledger?”

  “And a surviving WITSEC alum who’s getting the ultimate in protective coverage.”

  Boyce arched an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

  For the next twenty minutes, Tommy Lee gave her a detailed briefing that ran from Toby McKay’s assault on Commissioner James through our interview with Janet Sinclair. Then she walked with us to get the evidence bags locked in my jeep.

  “All right. I’ll keep the chain of custody secure on these puppies.” She turned to me. “I may need a statement from you if Brookshire gets caught up in this mess. I’ll also run a cell trace requesting the location of Brookshire’s call to the Sheriff’s Department.”

  “May I make a suggestion?” I asked.

  “Please,” she said. “Any suggestions from you are welcome. Now, from Uncle Tommy Lee, well, that’s a different matter.”

  Tommy Lee ignored her.

  I pointed to the clear bags protecting the gun and ledger. “I know you’ll go over both of these for fingerprints, but when you do forensics on the victim’s vehicle, check the floormat under the seat.”

  “What am I looking for?” Boyce asked.

  “I’m curious as to the pattern of gun oil.”

  Boyce nodded. She knew what I was getting at. Every well-maintained firearm is frequently cleaned and oiled. Trace residue should appear on the Infiniti’s carpet.

  “So, if it looks like the oil pattern is fresh with no other trace, the gun was laid there,” she said.

  “Planted there,” I corrected. “Odd that there’s no holster, but not odd if Sinclair felt like he needed to be able to grab the pistol quickly. If you find lots of oil traces in a broad pattern consistent with the gun shifting during travel, then I’ll feel better. Otherwise…”