Rules of Engagement (Lexi Graves Mysteries, 11)

by Camilla Chafer

  "Do you handle all of Solomon's affairs?" I asked, hoping to change the direction of the conversation.

  "Yes, all of his personal affairs. We handle his business affairs too and we also consult whenever he requires any legal advice."

  "Did he need any recently?"

  "No."

  "Did he mention anyone he might be afraid of?"

  "No. He didn't appear to have any concerns at all."

  "Is there anything else you can tell us?"

  Mr. Gort contemplated me for a moment. "I suggested he consider a pre-nuptial contract before he got married."

  "Oh!" I never expected that.

  "We advise all our wealthy clients to do so when they marry someone less wealthy," Mr. Gort said matter-of-factly. "Please be assured it is not a personal judgment on you or any other person. Additionally, Mr. Solomon did not make an appointment or ask to have one drawn up. Will there be anything else?"

  "Did Solomon leave a letter only for me, or was there one left for anyone else?"

  "Yours was the only one in our possession."

  "Thank you for your time," I said, standing. Maddox followed me. We shook hands and left, walking out quietly.

  "Are you okay?" asked Maddox.

  "I don't know how many times people have asked me that."

  "I meant, about the pre-nup thing."

  "I was surprised but I'm not upset by it. Like he said, Solomon has a lot and I have much less. It's perfectly sensible to protect his assets." Plus, he indicated he was giving me everything in his letter. It was a lot to take in.

  "What was in the package?" Maddox asked once we hit the first floor.

  "I didn't tell you? A check for a million dollars and a letter telling me that he wanted me looked after if anything happened to him. I thought Mr. Gort might know what Solomon was actually worried about."

  "I can think of a bunch of things that would worry him about you; but they don’t involve his own life," said Maddox. "A million dollars?" he added.

  "Hold that thought," I said as my phone rang. "Hi, Fletcher," I said. "Do you have any news?"

  "I do. I'm sitting with Flaherty and you're on speaker phone," he said. "We found the motorcycle but I’m afraid it's not good news. We found it near the old, unused train tracks, way out past Frederickstown. Unfortunately, someone burned it up."

  "Deliberately?"

  "Yeah, there's an empty can of gasoline a few yards from the bike. Someone definitely torched it. We think they must’ve had another ride waiting here, and drove the bike there to torch it before they hightailed it outta there."

  "I suppose it's too much to hope that there were any cameras around?"

  "Not so far, none that we are aware of," said Flaherty, "but there's a junk yard located around the corner. I think I saw a camera there aimed at the road. It's the only route out of the area, so if the camera was actually working, we might be able to see which vehicle left the area after the motorcycle arrived. After we're done here, we'll check that out."

  "We're on our way," I said when Maddox nodded. "Fifteen minutes," I added as Maddox flashed his fist three times.

  We jogged to the car but instead of continuing past the law office, Maddox took the next left and circled back around, aiming for Frederickstown. He preferred not to drive through the neighborhood – which was a badly thought out addendum to Montgomery. It was designed for commuters but unfortunately lacked any working public transport links to actually get the commuters anywhere. Maddox went around it, putting his foot down to accelerate.

  "That must be the junk yard," I said, pointing to a building surrounded by rusty fencing topped with spikes. Cars were stacked high in piles, some partially crushed or burned out. A pair of blocky Rottweilers stood guard at the gates.

  "It's run by the Pounder brothers," said Maddox. "A decent duo, but not too smart." We rounded the corner and found ourselves at the end of the road. I pointed to Fletcher's SUV. Maddox pulled in alongside it and we got out. We walked towards the two PIs. Fletcher waved to us and walked over to meet us, but Flaherty remained crouched on the ground, looking in the scrub brush behind a charred and twisted wreck.

  "That's all that's left of the motorcycle?" I asked, wondering how they could have possibly identified the twisted chunk of metal as ever being a vehicle.

  "They did a good job on it," said Fletcher. "Lucas managed to track the motorcycle's movements through Frederickstown but we lost them because the traffic cams were not operating. Someone has been taking them out on a regular basis and the city decided not to fix them anymore."

  "It happened that many times?" Maddox asked.

  "Seven times, to be exact. The last time they sent a maintenance guy out, some jerk duct-taped him to the top of the post! Emergency services had to be called in to cut him out and bring him down off the post. No one wants to fix the cameras now. Anyway, Lucas couldn't find any evidence of the motorcycle leaving the area so we took a drive around and that’s when we found this. The plates are still intact so we could identify it. I figured since it was stolen, no one much cared about removing the plates."

  "Got something," called Flaherty before he walked over to us, carrying a small piece of leather draped over a pen.

  Maddox pulled a pair of gloves from his jacket pocket and slipped them on. He picked it up, turning it over. "It's a wallet. Driver's license registered to Mikey Gibbs plus a debit card and twenty bucks. Where did you find it?"

  "Over there in the brush, a couple of feet from the gasoline can."

  "Do you hear that?" I asked as the sounds of sirens were getting louder. We all paused, waiting for a squad car, which turned the corner before it came barreling towards us.

  "Get rid of the wallet quick!" ordered Maddox. "We don't want to be accused of evidence tampering."

  "Take a photo of the driver's license first," I suggested. Maddox and I turned toward the police cars, stepping close together to cover Fletcher and Flaherty.

  "No prizes for guessing why you're out here," yelled Garrett, getting out of the first car. "Is that the bike?"

  "Looks that way," I told him. "Fletcher and Flaherty stumbled upon it. They called me and we were just about to phone it in."

  Garrett harrumphed. "We got a tip an hour ago that a motorcycle was being burned out here."

  "We think the license plate is still intact," I said. "Hopefully, that can be used as some evidence."

  "I thought I saw something in the bushes over there," said Fletcher. "But I didn't look."

  "Really?" said Garrett, shaking his head in disbelief. "I suppose I should thank you good citizens for not stepping all over a crime scene or leaving fingerprints on anything. Lexi, you really shouldn't be here."

  "Consider me gone."

  "That's not what I meant. I meant, you shouldn't be investigating..."

  "I'm not," I said. "I was just curious. We'll get going now."

  "Look after my sister," said Garrett as we filed past him, without saying whom he was addressing.

  "I tossed it into the bushes right over there, where I found it," said Flaherty when we reached our cars. "But we got a photo and an address. I think maybe we got our shooter."

  "Get to the junk yard and confirm it with their camera footage. Maybe this guy used a vehicle registered to him to leave the area, then call Garrett and tip him off," I told him.

  "On it."

  "I'd like to have a few private words with Mikey Gibbs. Find him!"

  Chapter Eleven

  "Where are we going?" I asked Maddox as we turned on to the highway, traveling in the opposite direction from the hospital.

  "I arranged a meeting for you with Special Agent Miller. He doesn't have a lot of time because he's working on a case but when I explained the situation, he said to come there directly.

  "That's great!" My spirits rose at the thought that Miller could expose new information. I wasn't sure it would be as dramatic as the tales I heard from my colleagues, but I was convinced he would have something pertinent to ad
d. Mostly, I wanted to know how Solomon ended up working with the FBI and what kind of special consulting he did.

  Maddox cut a glance at me before turning his eyes back to the road. "I don't want you to get your hopes up."

  "How can I not?" I wondered. "We've already had one huge break in finding that wallet. Now, there's a man who might be able to give me answers about Solomon's recent history in Montgomery."

  "Might be able to give you answers," repeated Maddox.

  "There's something else," I said, noticing the frown lines on Maddox's forehead. They had visibly deepened since the day I met him but they somehow only increased his attractive ruggedness. I just hoped his frown lines weren't from the years of worry I might have inadvertently caused. "What is it? What aren't you telling me?"

  "It's that wallet."

  "What about it?"

  "It's a rookie move. It's not a hit man kinda move. What hit man have you ever heard of that manages to lose his wallet while fleeing the scene?"

  "I don't know many hit men," I replied honestly.

  "I've come across a few in my career, and it's ridiculous that a professional would leave something behind that could identify him. If he were so inept that he lost his wallet, he might as well not even have bothered to wear a mask or gloves. It's too sloppy."

  "What are you saying? Do you think the wallet was deliberately planted?"

  "I'm not saying that." Maddox frowned harder. He stopped at the red lights, and paused before continuing, "The motorcycle was dumped in the outskirts of the city, in an area where it was unlikely to be found, and that was a smart move. And burning it? Even smarter. That gets rid of any possible evidence. But, leaving a wallet right next to the wreck? Why would he even have carried his wallet with him? What was he planning to do? Stop off at a store for a snack? Or buy some gas?"

  "That does seem pretty unlikely."

  "It's ridiculous! A hit man carries only what he needs: his weapon; and he wears a disguise that he ditches as soon as possible and destroys."

  "If there were a car waiting for him where he dumped the motorcycle, maybe it fell out of that? Or maybe he switched his clothes and the wallet fell out of a bag?" I surmised.

  "Possibly, but if I were a hit man, I would switch the vehicles, and burn up the old one. Then I'd get into my new vehicle and flee the area. I would have my new vehicle already gassed up and ready to go. I wouldn't waste any time changing clothes."

  "What would you do with the gun?" I asked. "We have the motorcycle. We might have the shooter's identity. But where's the gun?"

  "I'd dispose of that item fast. I wouldn't want it found on me. Even the smallest thing can accidentally catch a killer. A blown taillight, going a few miles over the speed limit, a possible identification from a nosy neighbor, any of those things could cause a smart cop to search a vehicle and find the gun. So losing a wallet like that? I'm thinking now it's a plant to throw us off."

  "Or maybe the hit man is that stupid. Fletcher and Flaherty found the wallet, and if they also find the guy, and the weapon he used in his possession, would that be good enough evidence for you?"

  "Yes, but if they do connect all those dots, he would still have to be the world's worst hit man. The good ones never get caught." The light turned green and Maddox accelerated.

  "Then I hope he is the worst one in history."

  "Another thought I had, Lexi, is that it doesn't sound too professional to me, and that makes me wonder who could have hired the guy. Your agency colleagues came up with a lot of names, right?"

  "Yes."

  "Wealthy, connected people?"

  "I don't know but some, yes."

  "Get someone to check into who has a lot of money and bears a grudge and who doesn't. Wealthy criminals with grudges hire only the top-quality criminals to do their dirty work."

  "You think someone cheap might have done it? That's ultimately what you're suggesting? Someone cheap who had a grudge just hired someone who was inefficient and that's why we might have found them?" I tried to process that, but couldn't. It seemed so insulting.

  "Yeah, if that wallet got dropped accidentally, that's exactly what I'm suggesting."

  I gulped and stared out the window for a little while, looking at the houses and businesses we passed, wondering if we were focusing entirely on the wrong people. Initially, I'd been looking for something from Solomon's distant past for the reason he was attacked, something that was planned over many years. Now I had to wonder if a hastily thrown together plot, coupled with an inept hit man meant it was something far more recent. I couldn't argue with what Maddox said. It wasn't just reasonable, but quite plausible.

  Reaching for my phone, I called Lucas. "Did the traffic cam footage pay off?" he asked.

  "It did. The motorcycle was nearby but burned out. Fletcher and Flaherty are checking a lead on a private security camera that might have caught something and I would like you to find all the information you can on a Mikey Gibbs and pass it on to them."

  "On it."

  "Where are you with the list?" I asked, knowing I didn't have to tell him which list I referred to.

  "Nine are dead. I'm still working on the rest of the names."

  "Is there anyone local on the list?"

  "I don't know. I don't think so."

  "I need some local names, perhaps someone connected to one of our agency cases."

  "Is there something more I should know?" he asked.

  "Find out if anyone local has any connection to Mikey Gibbs."

  "Okay," he said slowly. "Anything..."

  "That's all," I cut him off. "Talk soon." I hung up, and waited for Maddox to say something. He didn't. Instead, he drove in silence, leaving me to think hard about his idea. The suggestion that someone close to us, maybe even another Montgomery resident, could have been responsible for the murder attempt was worrying. Having someone from Solomon's past be the one who ordered the hit possessed a greater degree of personal removal from us and the hit man. Adding time and distance between us made it harder to track the perp, but someone close to us was a different matter. They could even be someone I knew. They could be someone with whom we spoke or conducted business with. They could be around the corner or someone passing me on the street. I looked around with renewed interest, noticing the people in cars, pedestrians, a dad with a double baby buggy hitting the crosswalk button, and two men jogging.

  "Don't do that," said Maddox.

  "Do what?"

  "Don't look at everyone like it could be them. You'll drive yourself crazy."

  "You know me too well."

  Maddox laughed a half-hearted huff, and we turned onto the street that bordered Fairmount Park. He pulled up and parked before he unbuckled his seatbelt.

  "We're meeting him at the park?" I asked.

  "I couldn't take you to where he works. It's top secret."

  "You don't know where it is, do you?" I teased.

  Maddox rolled his eyes before he shrugged. "You know me too well, too. Miller said he would meet us here. Ready?"

  "Not to sound trite, but as ready as I'll ever be."

  "Let's go."

  It had been a long time since I'd seen Special Agent Miller but he hadn't changed much. His hair was still gray but a little longer and he sported a gray-speckled beard that he cut very short. He waited for us by a bench overlooking the lake, looking every bit like a regular citizen in his knitted cardigan, zipped up to the chin, and jeans. I wondered if he remembered meeting me in a closet-sized room. I met Solomon in that room at the same time, and the memory of it hit me like a sucker punch.

  "Hi, Matt," I said, since he told me to call him by his first name a long time ago.

  "I've followed your career," he said, reaching a hand to shake mine. "I'm very impressed."

  "I'm not sure what to say," I said, his words catching me by surprise. I didn’t know whether it was because he actually bothered to look into my career or because he was truly impressed. The thought of both was surprising, and also very
interesting. Who else could be watching me?

  "Special Agent Maddox tells me this is a matter of extreme urgency. How can I help?" asked Matt, moving the conversation on with a swiftness that relieved me.

  "I'm trying to find out who shot Solomon," I said, coming as quickly to the point as I could. Matt Miller wasn't a verbose man, and I didn't have the time to make polite talk before I got straight to the point. Every minute I was away from Solomon bothered me. Not only that, but the trail was getting colder the longer it took me to make the connections.

  "I was sorry to hear about that. Maddox filled me in on what he knows."

  "You might not know that we now have a lead on the shooter but I don't believe he’s the person behind it. I think someone else might be calling the shots —" I winced at my poor choice of words " —and I need to know if it's someone from Solomon's past. Since you worked with him in an official capacity, I thought you might be able to offer some ideas."

  "I only worked with Solomon a small number of times when he was on loan to the FBI, and I'm struggling to think of anyone who might have borne a grudge. His work with my task force was always discreet. Although we worked on that case for four months, he was always behind the scenes, while the operatives like Maddox were undercover. It's unlikely anyone on the cases we worked would ever have even known Solomon's name."

  "Who was he on loan from?" I asked.

  Miller shrugged. "A defense contractor, I think, set up by an ex-agent who was connected to someone higher than my pay grade. We needed someone with his expertise and he was thus provided."

  "Were all the cases you worked on similar to the Green Hand Insurance case?"

  "It's classified information, but I can tell you that they all had financial crimes in common."

  "What about Solomon's personal life?"

  Matt laughed and the lines around his eyes crinkled. "I wasn't aware Solomon had one."

  "You don't know anyone whom he socialized with? He never mentioned anyone from his past?"

  "If he did socialize with anyone, or date somebody, he never said. He didn't talk about his past either, and to be fair, I never asked. We were doing a job, you see, not dating."