“Officer Gordon, should you utter a single word regarding what you are about to hear outside this room I will have you arrested for interfering in a federal criminal investigation. Have you got that?”
“Yes, sir!” Gordon barked as he snapped to attention and saluted.
The agent then started to explain.…
It all began with an attempt to draw more than the three hundred dollar daily limit from a checking account being used to launder millions of dollars in mob money. These accounts were discovered and impounded daily. They sprang up when they were needed and disappeared overnight once their usefulness was exhausted. They were used to syphon mob money to offshore accounts in the Caribbean. The difference was that no one had ever used one of these accounts to draw money from an ATM. What’s more, the ATM that had been used had a camera that had taken a picture of the ATM user. It was during the image enhancement process that someone thought they recognized the man in the picture. No records search was needed after it was confirmed by the technician’s superiors that the image was indeed a picture of the wealthy construction company owner Randolph Rankles.
No one could say how Rankles had obtained a credit card to the specialized account or why he would try to use the card to draw cash from the account. But the act was enough to get a warrant to dig further and that’s when the information really began to flow. Rumors of embezzling, witness tampering, influence buying, safety violations, payoffs—these were just a few of the discrepancies the Feds were pursuing. Meanwhile, the Chief was helping out by developing a snitch he’d uncovered within the Rankles and Edwards organization. That snitch was Eddie Springer. Eddie had been negotiating with the authorities to produce that one piece of information that would put Rankles away for good.
The Feds wanted Randolph Rankles’ books. They wanted all of the digital records outlining Rankles’ criminal activities including whom he paid off and who did his dirty work for him. And they felt that Eddie could get them.
“I’m telling you, I know where the books are but I don’t know how to get to them,” Eddie chimed in. “They’re in my father’s office, accessible from his computer, but they’re not on his computer. They’re stored on a network server somewhere on the Internet. I’ve got to get to his passwords or it will continue to be nothing more than rumors.”
“And where are these passwords kept?” I asked.
“To the best of my knowledge, they’re in his head.”
We all considered his response in frustration.
“You know, there’s one aspect of this case you’ve neglected,” I said, breaking the silence.
“Oh, and what’s that?” Agent Stillwell countered.
“What’s the connection between Agatha and the murders?”
“I was hoping that, since you’re our foremost expert on C. J. Masterson, you might be able to provide that connection.”
“The one thing I haven’t tried is asking her,” I said, pulling my cellphone from my clutch.
I dialed Alex’s number. He answered on the second ring. I could hear the sounds of music and people talking in the background.
“Alex, I wonder if you would do me a favor,” I began. “Would you mind asking Agatha if she knows or has had any dealings with Randolph Rankles?”
“That’s a strange thing to ask a bride,” Alex replied. “Hold on while I query.”
There was a pause on the line which was broken by the sound of Agatha’s voice.
“Hello, Chloe,” Agatha said.
“Hello, Agatha.”
“What makes you ask about Randolph and me?”
“I’m working on a case and there appears to be a connection between the two of you that I have yet to identify.”
“Why of course, Chloe. Didn’t I already tell you? Randolph Rankles is my ex-husband.”
I nearly dropped my cellphone on the floor. The case had just taken on a dangerous new twist.
Chapter 15
“You’re sure he won’t mind having me show up uninvited?” I asked one last time.
“As I’ve already assured you, you’re invited, dear,” Agatha replied.
I was driving Alex’s BMW because I didn’t want to show up at the Rankles compound—so it was termed—in my run-down piece of junk. Agatha postponed her honeymoon until the afternoon so she could invite me to lunch at the Hope Falls home of her ex-husband and still friend, Randolph Rankles. I left Blue with Alex so I could attend. Mr. Rankles had purchased The House on the Hill as it was aptly named. I had never been to the home overlooking the town from high upon Bald Mountain, not even in the days when it had been open to tourists. Now it was the compound of one of the world’s richest and most powerful men and no one entered without prior clearance. I pondered what it required to leave if the master didn’t want anyone leaving.
“I hope you’re right,” I said. “Because I’m famished.”
We wound up the mountain until we rounded the final curve in the road and were confronted by a pair of ornate black wrought iron gates. A guard was posted, sitting in a small shack beside the massive portico. He rose and came out to greet us as I rolled to a stop before the gates. My window was already down. I smiled as he approached and the smile was returned.
“Who may I ask is calling?” he asked politely.
“Chloe Boston and Mrs. Agatha Jackman.” I loved using Agatha’s new name.
“And are you expected?”
“For lunch,” I replied.
The guard checked a sheet of paper attached to a clipboard.
“I have a listing for a Mrs. Agatha Graves and Ms. Chloe Boston. Would that be you?”
“That’s fine,” I replied curtly.
Agatha and I were asked to produce our IDs, which we did. The guard stepped aside and used a cellphone to call ahead to the mansion. The call was short.
“I hope you have a good day at the compound,” the guard said as he handed us back our IDs. I’m not sure that he was sincere.
The gates were opened and I drove onto the estate property. The drive was newly graveled and crunched noisily under the tires. Trees and bushes blocked the view of the main residence until we were almost upon it. Then the scenery burst to life as we were surrounded by spring color. There before us stood an Edwardian mansion—a distant tribute to would-be gods gone by.
It had to require an army of gardeners to maintain these grounds, I thought as I drove past manicured lawns, hedges, and flower beds. Not to mention the staff required to run the home.
I pulled to a stop alongside the grand double front doors of the building. A valet stepped out of the home and accepted my keys so that he could park my car in the garage. A butler awaited us at what turned out to be a smaller door cut into one of the massive double doors. I guess we didn’t rate having either door fully open—either that or it took half the staff to move them.
The grand entryway was a marvel in rich marble and mahogany. It positively oozed old money. Of course, it was probably something that could no longer be built. The materials and expertise to build it could no longer be found and if by some miracle they were the cost would be prohibitive.
What kind of man lives in such a structure, I thought to myself as we were led through the south parlor to the library. And the whole time that we walked through the home I couldn’t keep myself from looking for Rankles’ office. The double doors to the library were opened, allowing us a grand entrance. I actually felt a bit dwarfed.
The library was every bit as posh as the other rooms. What it had that the other rooms lacked was a dashing elderly man in a burgundy smoking jacket and gray slacks. Rankles was wearing an ascot in the V of his jacket and had a white handkerchief poking out of the breast pocket. As we entered he stepped gracefully across the room to take Agatha’s hand in his and bestow lavish kisses upon the back of it.
“Randolph, stop,” Agatha said, pulling her hand away. “I’m a married woman now.”
“Congratulations on that barbaric accomplishment,” Rankles pronounced.
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br /> There was an awkward silence as the two considered one another.
“Agatha, you look marvelous,” he declared with a renewed smile before acknowledging me. “And who might we have here?”
“This is my good friend Chloe Boston,” Agatha announced. “And she’s a very good friend indeed, so I’d like you to be nice to her.”
“Anything for you, Agatha,” Rankles replied. “Ms. Boston, it is a pleasure to meet you,” he said, taking my hand and bowing low.
I was glad he hadn’t tried to kiss my hand. Though he was charming as all get-out, he was still a suspect in a criminal investigation and might even be a murderer. As a general rule, it’s never smart to get too close to those you’re helping to convict. Then I heard the words I was hoping to avoid.
“Ms. Boston, have we met before?” Rankles asked.
“Dear Randolph, he never forgets a face,” Agatha warned.
“In this case you must be mistaken,” I lied. “No, Mr. Rankles, we have never met.”
“Much to my detriment I’m sure,” Rankles replied.
My, my, but he certainly was charm on the hoof, I thought. I’d better watch out while handling this one.
“Your home is absolutely beautiful,” I declared, changing the subject to something safer.
“Thank you. It’s something I picked up when I decided to move here to Hope Falls. I thought it would show permanence and my commitment to the city’s downtown project.”
I guess that explained the kind of man who would live in such a home: a showman.
Mr. Rankles guided us through his mansion to the dining room. I couldn’t help but marvel at the tableaus we passed. The rich wood of the hallway with thick hand-woven runners covering the floor. The antique furniture and objects of art lining the walls and adorning the lavish rooms we passed. It was all quite overwhelming. It made me realize the kind of man who could afford to live in such a home: a ruthless one. I couldn’t for the life of me picture Agatha living in that kind of cold opulence.
It wasn’t until we arrived in the dining room that I noticed how much attention Mr. Rankles was paying to Agatha, considering the fact that she was a newlywed woman. I couldn’t help but notice that she was uncomfortable under Rankles’ obvious fawning. I kind of wanted to smack the guy in the head and tell him to cool his jets. Rankles pulled a chair out for Agatha while a menial did the same for me.
“I can’t tell you enough how good it is to see you, Agatha,” Rankles announced.
“And it’s nice to see you as well, Randolph. I’m sorry you couldn’t attend my wedding.”
“Yes. I’m sorry to say that I was otherwise engaged at the time.”
I’ll just bet, I thought. To my delight, the soup course was served. I was so hungry I had to restrain myself from starting to eat until my server had placed the bowl before me.
“In any case, we’re together now, that’s all that matters,” he continued. “And I’m sure you’re going to enjoy the meal I’ve had prepared for you this afternoon.”
“Nevertheless, at some point this afternoon we’re going to have to broach the matter of my recent marriage.”
“Not now, my darling. Why ruin the moment?”
I hazarded a guess that this was going to be some interesting mealtime conversation. Rankles seemed to be in a state of denial regarding the fact that Agatha was now a married woman, while Agatha had come with her own agenda of pounding that very point home. I had planned on asking several questions of my own but decided to stay quiet for a time and see where this conversation led.
“You should meet Lawrence,” Agatha said. “You’d like him.”
“I will be meeting Lawrence, my dear,” Rankles assured her. “That is if you bring him to the ground-breaking party this Saturday.”
“You know I hate your showy affairs,” Agatha complained.
“Oh now, don’t take that attitude. It’s to be a ball. You always loved dancing. Besides, I’ve planned a special presentation to honor your wedding to what’s-his-name, the layabout.”
“That would be Lawrence, my husband,” Agatha corrected. “And he does not ‘lay about.’ ”
“That’s the one. Please, say you’ll come.”
“I’ll think about it. And if I do come, it will be on the arm of my husband, Lawrence Jackman.”
“That’s not the answer I was looking for, but I suppose it will have to do—for now.”
I cleared my throat, hoping to be acknowledged. Mr. Rankles tore his eyes away from Agatha long enough to see what I wanted. What I wanted was to ask questions.
“So, Mr. Rankles, how goes the construction project?” I asked.
“It ran into a bit of a snag getting city council approval, but since that’s been taken care of it’s now full steam ahead with the project. We hope to have the equipment and men at work by tomorrow morning.”
“That’s good news then.”
“Very good news. I have to pay for the men and machinery whether they’re working or not. And that gets expensive fast.”
I opted to change tactics to see if I could get a rise out of our host.
“I’m surprised you received the city council’s approval for the project considering all the rumors flying around.”
Rankles, who had still been distracted by Agatha, turned his full attention to me after the issuance of my challenge. I could feel the physical weight of his regard pushing me down in my seat.
“What rumors would you be referring to, young lady?”
“Well, to begin with, there’s the death of Cyrus Knox.”
Rankles considered me for a good long while before replying.
“The death of Mr. Knox was an unfortunate accident.”
“Not if you consider that it shut him up and ended his protests at your Seattle construction site.”
“What is this, an ambush?” Rankles exploded from his chair. “Agatha, who is this person that you brought with you to lunch today? A reporter?”
Our discussion was about to heat up if the color of Rankles’ face was any indication. I grabbed my knife and fork and held them at the ready, prepared to face any eventuality. The rising storm was dashed upon the salad course which arrived just in time to interrupt a nasty squall. Rankles resumed his seat only to stab at his endive viciously with his fork.
“Then there’s the reports of payoffs and construction quality issues,” I continued.
“That’s enough, Chloe,” Agatha insisted. “Randolph, I must apologize for my friend. I don’t know what’s come over her.”
“Wait one second, I know where we met,” Rankles asserted, pointing a finger across the table at me. “At the city council meeting. You’re the one who caused all the ruckus,” he declared, once more rising from his seat.
“Chloe, perhaps it’s time we left,” Agatha suggested, rising from her own seat.
I followed suit, patting the corners of my mouth with my napkin and setting it on the table. If the soup and salad were anything to judge by, we’d just missed a wonderful lunch. I couldn’t help but sigh as I stepped away from the table not even half-full.
“You there,” Rankles called to a nearby servant. “Call security and have these two ejected from the compound immediately.”
I thought it appropriate for this lonely mogul to not even know the names of his own servants.
“That won’t be necessary, Randolph,” Agatha said. “We can show ourselves out.”
Whether we were showing ourselves out or being shown out, we were given an escort on the way to the door. Two burly security men walked to either side of us. That and Rankles followed behind. I suppose Rankles viewed us as an imminent threat.
“You made a big mistake, Agatha, marrying that stooge.”
I wanted to turn around and slap him in the face, assuming I could reach it. Instead, I was startled when our convoy nearly ran into Eddie Springer coming down the grand staircase into the grand entryway. Eddie looked nervous and not at all happy to see us. He’s hiding something, I
thought the moment I saw him, and whatever it is it’s dangerous.
“You, what are you doing here?” Eddie said when he spotted me.
“Hello, Eddie,” Agatha replied.
“And where do you think you’re going, young man?” Rankles challenged.
“I got a call. I have to meet someone downtown,” Eddie explained self-consciously.
“But you’re under house arrest,” Rankles countered.
“I’ll be back later, Pops,” Eddie said, tossing his black leather jacket over his shoulder and exiting the door to the mansion.
“Goodbye, Eddie,” Mrs. Graves said as the youth departed.
“Come on, Agatha. We don’t want to keep these people waiting,” I said, taking Agatha’s arm and literally pulling her to the door.
I’m not sure what came over me, but I felt the walls closing in on me and wanted to get while the getting was good. At any moment I expected Rankles to call a halt to our retreat. He didn’t, which was good because I had one last question.
“Mr. Rankles,” I asked, turning. “Your ball isn’t to be a masquerade ball, is it?”
Rankles curled his lip into a snarl in response.
Once outside, I took a look around for Eddie. I had the sense that there was something wrong with him or some kind of trouble he’d gotten himself into. I spotted him as he peeled out of the massive garage attached to the side of the mansion. He was driving a classic 1967 two-tone white and red Corvette convertible. In no time he disappeared down the winding road leading from the property.
“Agatha, do you mind delaying your honeymoon just a little longer?” I asked as we waited for the valet to retrieve Alex’s car.
“I was expecting to stay for lunch. Why, what did you have in mind?”
“We need to find Eddie Springer,” I said in a hushed whisper. “I think he’s in trouble.”
“Where do you propose to look for him?” Agatha whispered back.
“I have the address of his apartment. If he’s not there he could be anywhere.”
“Let’s try his apartment,” Agatha suggested before we climbed into the waiting car.
Chloe Boston 15 - Murder by the Book Page 9