Hidden Scars

by Mark de Castrique

  “And the war changed that.”

  “Maybe the war and Black Mountain College.” Nakayla set her cup on the coffee table. “Leah said Nadine made a scene in town when she saw the two of them together. Paul Weaver’s desire to attend college might have been the major factor for breaking up with Nadine. She might be fabricating other reasons that she’d have to abandon in Violet’s presence.”

  “Sure,” I said. “It’s worth a shot. See if we can pick her up this morning.”

  Nakayla went to her office to contact Violet. I mulled over the core question that personally dogged me: What had Harlan Beale wanted to show me?

  My cell phone buzzed. The ID screen flashed “Armitage.”

  “Nathan?”

  “Hey, Sam. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Would you believe I’m in the office?”

  “No.” He paused. “Unless you were tied into the shooting of that film producer last night.”

  “We don’t know what’s a tie-in and what’s a loose end. But, yes, that’s why we’re in early.”

  “I read the story in the online edition of the paper,” Nathan said. “It reminded me I hadn’t gotten back to you about the CopBeat.”

  “The what?”

  “The security alarm at the Black Mountain College Museum.”

  “Right.” I realized my mind was too scattered if I couldn’t remember the disabled device. “Any explanation for why it didn’t work?”

  “It’s a fairly decent brand. More for a consumer market than anything we would install. There are a couple of possibilities. An electronic relay could have failed and when the power and phone lines were cut, it didn’t resource the battery. Or the charge could have been depleted. At some point earlier, the building lost power, the alarm drained the battery, and it didn’t recharge.”

  “How much earlier?”

  “Hard to say. Theoretically, it could have been any time after the installation. You could check Duke Energy for a record of power losses. Are the police conducting a forensic exam?”

  “Probably nothing more than dusting for prints.”

  “Well, if the battery has a charge, then we rule out the power loss.”

  “Which leaves the faulty relay.”

  “Yes.” Nathan paused again. “Of course, there’s one other possibility.”

  “What’s that?”

  The alarm was deactivated by someone entering the code and then cutting the power and phone lines to make that look like the cause of the failure.”

  “Can you prove that?”

  “No, but I can make it more probable if I examine the unit.”

  I mentally kicked myself for overlooking that possibility. I figured Newly had done the same. We saw a sabotaged alarm and looked no further.

  “Thanks, Nathan. I’ll be back in touch.”

  I started to dial Newly when a knock came from the hallway door. Blue lifted his head and gave a low growl. From his reaction, I knew it wasn’t Shirley.

  I grabbed Blue’s collar. “Come in.”

  Dustin Henry entered. The actor carried himself like he was walking onto the bridge of his starship. I hadn’t seen him since we’d both witnessed Roland Cassidy’s rant against Harlan Beale.

  “Sam, I hope you don’t mind me dropping in unannounced. I was in the area.”

  Captain Jefferson was standing in my office. Of course, I didn’t mind. “Not at all, sir. It’s just me and Nakayla. She’s on the phone. Would you like coffee?” I released Blue and he lay down, judging our intruder to be harmless.

  “No, thanks. But I would like to talk a few minutes, if you have the time.”

  I motioned for him to take one of the leather chairs. Nakayla’s door opened and Dustin turned to greet her.

  “Please sit,” she said. “Will you have coffee?”

  “Thank you, but Sam already offered. I won’t be here that long.”

  “We have time.” Nakayla looked at me. “We’re picking up Violet Baker at nine-thirty.”

  She sat on the sofa, knowing Dustin was too much of a gentleman to sit first. He and I took the chairs.

  “What would you like to discuss?” I asked.

  Dustin Henry’s face was composed, but I noticed his hands were balled tightly atop his thighs.

  “Do you have any information on what happened to Nancy?”

  “No,” I said. “Only that she was shot.”

  “Marty called me at two this morning and broke the news. He knew I’d grown fond of Nancy. She was an excellent, no-nonsense producer, and I’ve worked with quite a few in my career who weren’t of her caliber. Marty said you were at the house with the police. I thought maybe you had more information than what was on the TV this morning.”

  Even though we did have more information, I didn’t feel at liberty to share it. I would reinforce what I knew Marty must have told him.

  “All I heard was that Nancy and Roland had a shouting match at the production office.”

  Dustin shook his head. “Roland Cassidy is all talk. She told me about it at dinner last night.”

  “You were with her?” I asked.

  “Yes. At Rhubarb. We grabbed a quick bite at seven.”

  Rhubarb was a casual but superb restaurant on the ground floor of my office building.

  “Nancy mentioned your address was the third floor and she was thinking of talking to you.”

  “About what?” Nakayla asked.

  “Phillips Building Supplies.”

  The name sounded familiar. Then I remembered we’d seen their truck delivering the replacement lumber and materials to the movie location.

  “Did she say why?” Nakayla asked.

  “She said she wanted to see their invoices, but that Raymond Braxton wouldn’t let her.”

  I recognized the name. “He’s the accountant, right?”

  “Yes. The state makes any film receiving incentives use a state-approved accountant to verify expenses qualifying for a grant. The receipts have to be from North Carolina companies or labor. Braxton claimed those invoices from Phillips Building Supplies had been paid and forwarded to Raleigh. And Braxton argued that Nancy had already approved them.”

  “Why did she want to review them?”

  “I’ve been in the film business a long time, not only as an actor, but I’ve also produced a project or two. You know what’s the most creative part of making a motion picture?”

  I shrugged, but Nakayla said, “The accounting department.”

  “Correct. Nancy said she thought Arnold Osteen might be getting cheated and wanted to look at the receipts again.”

  “Where do we fit into that request?” I asked.

  Dustin leaned forward and lowered his voice as if he thought our office was bugged. “She didn’t say exactly. But you evidently showed her some photographs yesterday and she wanted to talk to you. She wouldn’t tell me anything more.”

  The only photographs we had were from Harlan Beale’s cell phone.

  I stood. “Let me get something from my desk.” I retrieved the manila envelope Newly had given me with the scans of the photographs. If Nancy was concerned with Phillips Building Supplies, then I needed to examine the photos of the construction materials more carefully. I pulled the one of the cast members beside the lumber stack and then the closer view of just the stack. I returned to the conference area and set the two pictures on the coffee table.

  “There must be something here, Dustin. You’re in the cast photo. See anything unusual?”

  Dustin Henry lifted the picture and studied it closely. “No. We were discussing the first construction scene that was supposed to take place the next day. But, that night the materials were stolen.” He laid the picture down and picked up the second. “This second picture must be Harlan photographing the new inventory. Maybe Nancy counted the board
s.”

  I took it from him. You could count the boards by looking at the ends. Then, it struck me. “Let me see the cast picture.”

  Dustin handed it to me. The lumber pile was smaller in the frame. “Nakayla, do you have a magnifying glass?”

  “In my desk drawer.”

  She brought me the old-fashion lens reminiscent of Sherlock Holmes. I held it over each picture and saw the difference. I also felt I knew what Harlan had wanted to show me.

  Nakayla and Dustin Henry looked over my shoulder.

  “See, the ends of the boards in the cast picture have white marks on them. Harlan had tagged the boards for the scene so they wouldn’t be used in other set construction. Now, look at the second photograph. Some of the boards have a light blue tag, others are white, and the rest are unmarked. It’s not the same stack of lumber.”

  “The second one is the replacement delivery,” Dustin said.

  “The stolen materials must have gone back to Phillips Building Supplies,” Nakayla said. “Then some of the original boards were loaded into the replacement order.”

  “That’s what Harlan wanted to show me,” I said. “I saw the light blue paint where Harlan was working the afternoon before he was killed. Maybe he just grabbed whatever paint bucket was nearly empty. He started marking the new delivery and then he noticed the white markings.”

  Dustin Henry started pacing. “Would Nancy and Harlan be killed over a load of lumber? And Harlan was found in the museum. How does that fit?”

  “It doesn’t,” I said, “so maybe we should stop trying to make it.”

  “We provided a ready-made diversion,” Nakayla said. “Everyone on the movie set knew we were researching the college.”

  Dustin stopped. “You mean whoever killed Harlan tried to force a link to your cold case?”

  “We have to consider the possibility,” I said. “Both Nancy and Harlan could have asked questions about the stolen supplies. But, the lumber’s been burned so we have no evidence. The building supplier will argue those boards with the white ends had been added on-site and didn’t come with their replacement load.”

  “What do we do?” Dustin Henry asked.

  “We do nothing right now,” I said. “I’ll speak to Detective Newland of the Asheville Police Department about what we suspect.”

  Dustin Henry stared out the window at Beaucatcher Mountain, the high ridge walling in the eastern side of the city. “How would the lumber company know about your interest in Paul Weaver?”

  “They wouldn’t,” I said.

  “So, the idea to relocate Harlan Beale’s body had to come from somewhere else,” Dustin said. “Someone familiar with your involvement with him.”

  “Yes. Someone involved with the movie.” I gestured for Dustin and Nakayla to sit back down. “What’s this Raymond Braxton like?”

  “Typical bean counter,” Dustin said. “He’s probably early forties. He’s pudgy, balding, and has the personality of a cucumber. He’s from the eastern part of the state.”

  I remembered seeing the man he described with Camille Brooks as she chewed out someone from Phillips Building Supplies on the phone. “And he’s state-approved?”

  “Yes. My understanding is the Department of Commerce has a list of CPAs certified to conduct these audits on any film applying for a North Carolina Film Grant.”

  “So, if Arnold Osteen was being ripped off and deliverables were less than invoiced, or stolen materials were resold, Braxton should catch that as part of his review.”

  Dustin shrugged. “He would be one of the checkpoints. A department head could be another. And a sharp-eyed line producer like Nancy would be in a position to examine all outgoing expenses.”

  “And she and Braxton had an argument yesterday?” I asked.

  “That’s right,” Dustin confirmed. “Braxton’s worth checking out.” He looked at me and then Nakayla. “You still want to do nothing?”

  “With Phillips Building Supplies, yes,” I said. “Because if they’re confronted, everyone in the conspiracy could go to ground. Any evidence would be destroyed. Look what was done to the lumber.”

  Nakayla nodded. “It would be premature, Dustin.”

  “But,” I added, “if we could get a look at Braxton’s files, his reports and expense approvals might confirm our suspicions.”

  “Will you know what you’re looking for?” Dustin Henry asked.

  “Probably not. But I know someone who would. I just need to get her the records.”

  Nakayla arched an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “Braxton keeps the key to the accounting office,” Dustin said. “I don’t think the cleaning crew even goes in there if he’s not present.”

  “Who else would have a key?” I asked.

  “There’s a master that Arnold carries. Do you want him to know what you’re doing?”

  I remembered the first time I saw Osteen, roaring at the staff because of the theft of the construction supplies. “No. He’d blow up if he thought someone was stealing from him. Better to wait till we have definitive proof.”

  “So, does this mean breaking-and-entering?” Dustin asked.

  “That would be breaking the law. If we knew about it, we’d be obligated to report such an action to the police.”

  Dustin Henry nodded. “They say ignorance is bliss. I’m feeling very blissful and would like to remain so.”

  As soon as the actor left, Nakayla fixed me with a disapproving eye. “Are you really thinking of breaking into the accounting office?”

  “No. At least not as our first option. I’d prefer to be invited in.”

  “By whom?”

  “By the person who can get me the key.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “I don’t know. That’s the temporary flaw in my plan.”

  Nakayla laughed. “Why don’t you asked Roland Cassidy? He wants to be close to the case.”

  “Good idea. Who better to get Arnold Osteen’s master key than his nephew?”

  “I was kidding. For God’s sake, he could be the killer.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “You’re the one who heard Nancy and him arguing.”

  I pulled my cell phone from my belt.

  “Who are you calling?” Nakayla asked.

  “Newly. Let’s see if Cassidy’s still in his suspect pool.”

  I speed-dialed Newly’s cell, not wanting to go through the police switchboard.

  No hello. Just a gruff, “You solved my case yet?”

  “Good morning to you, too. And I’m working on it. You have any luck with Cassidy?”

  “He’s off the hook,” Newly said. “He was in the lower bar of The Thirsty Monk till midnight. Bartender vouched for him. Cassidy admitted calling Pellegatti around ten after a couple of beers. He claimed he was trying to apologize for a misunderstanding, but Pellegatti shouted at him and hung up.”

  “Did he admit she said the words Mickey Farmer heard—‘Stay the hell away from her?’”

  “Yes. And that she had bigger problems than dealing with him.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  “She didn’t tell him. He sensed she was pissed about something and his phone call came at the wrong time.”

  I decided withholding what we’d identified on Harlan Beale’s two photos was the wrong move. Newly needed to know.

  “I think we’ve discovered why Pellegatti was upset.” Newly listened to my explanation without interrupting. I didn’t pass along Dustin Henry’s comment that the CPA Raymond Braxton could be a member of a conspiracy over billing Osteen. I did suggest the Phillips Building Supplies theft could have been an inside job involving a production staffer.

  “Take it slow, you’re telling me,” Newly said.

  “I’d never presume to tell you how to run your case.” />
  “Right. Well, it was damn good work spotting the board markers. But don’t let it go to your head.”

  “One other thing. What kind of forensics did you run on the museum’s security alarm?”

  “Prints. Why?”

  “Nathan Armitage suggests checking the battery to see if it was drained. That could help determine how the device was disabled. He offered to look at it.”

  Newly grunted. “Not a bad idea. I’ll give him a call.”

  “What will you do about Beale’s photographs?”

  “Tuck and I will pay a visit to the set construction crew to confirm that Beale did mark the boards. Since all we have are ashes for evidence, we’ll go to the supplier and find out who assembled the truckload and request copies of any invoices or itemized order lists.”

  “Would you get copies for me?”

  Newly was silent a few seconds. “How could that possibly be related to your cold case?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’d like to see them.”

  “Right. And how are you doing with those pals you’ve invited to the party?”

  The question startled me as I thought he meant Roland Cassidy. “Who?”

  “The FBI. The U.S. Army. You mean they haven’t deployed teams of experts to help you?”

  “Hey, they’ve had so many volunteers, they’re still selecting the cream of the crop.”

  Newly laughed. “In other words, no word.”

  “In a word, yes.” I disconnected.

  I went to my desk, took a fresh notepad from the drawer, and began jotting down questions I’d ask Nadine Oates and Roland Cassidy. The main office door opened and I wheeled my chair to where I could see who had entered. I expected Shirley but was surprised to see Hewitt Donaldson.

  “Hey, Blue. It’s your pal, Hewitt.”

  Nakayla rolled her desk chair in her doorway, but Hewitt ignored both of us and whistled for the coonhound. Blue loped over to the attorney and sat. Hewitt patted him vigorously on the side. Only then did he acknowledge our presence.

  “Shirley had some car trouble this morning. I can take Blue to my office.”

  Hewitt was dressed in his normal office attire—a brilliant Hawaiian shirt that looked like it was powered by batteries, faded jeans, and zip-up boots of brushed suede. His white hair hung to his shoulders, a sign that he wouldn’t be in court today, otherwise his locks would have been pulled back in a ponytail.