by L C Hayden
He squinted as though attempting to search the files in his memory bank. “The Raven? As in the bird? Is that a musical group?”
Bronson leaned back and smiled, a man in complete control of the situation. “Cut the crap. I know you’re familiar with the Raven.”
Glass raised his hands as if surrendering. “Believe me, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Would you care to fill me in?”
“Does the name Barbara Culverson mean anything to you?”
Glass’ Adam apple bobbed once, a movement that didn’t escape Bronson’s attention.
The lawyer’s eyes darted from side to side, as if he continued to search through his mental files. “I can’t seem to recall anyone by that name. Should it be familiar to me? I meet hundreds of people each month. It’s hard to keep track of all the names.” His wide-eyed innocent look gave credence to his words.
He’s good, Bronson thought. He’s not going to be easy to break. “Let’s talk about the paintings.”
“The paintings? The ones in the outer office?”
Two could play the game. Bronson’s eyes locked on the lawyer. “What are the twins’ names?”
“Ah, Jack and Jill?” Glass shrugged. “What twins? Please, back up and explain what you’re talking about.”
“I’ll be glad to do that. I’ll begin by telling you that the Raven is dead.”
Before he could stop himself, Glass’ eyes widened and he took small, sharp breaths. He shook himself and looked away. “And what does that have to do with me?”
“It has everything to do with you. Before she died—I killed her—she told me how you hired her to kill me. She told me about the paintings and the forgeries. She also told me about the twins.”
Glass crossed his arms and looked down as though studying the carpet for a secret answer. “I’ve never heard of the Raven, and I never hired anyone to kill you or anybody else.”
Bronson leaned forward on his seat. “You’re a lawyer. You know that a dying declaration will hold up in court. If I were you, I’d come clean, or you’ll end up taking the rap for everything.”
Glass let the air out through his mouth, giving him the appearance of a deflated balloon.
Bronson scooted over so he’d be even closer to the lawyer. “The cops are on their way. Thought I’d give you the heads up and give you a chance to save yourself.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I’m sure you answer to someone. I want to know who that is.”
Glass bit his lip.
“Fine. Have it your way.” Bronson stood up.
“Wait,” Glass said.
Bronson sat back down.
Once sitting tall and proud, Glass now hunched over, holding his head in his hands. “I’m not taking the rap for this. I want it known I’m willing to cooperate. I want your word you will talk to the police who in turn will talk to the judge about my willingness to fully cooperate.”
“That, I can do.”
Glass hesitated and bit his lips. “As far as the scheme of things go, I’m the one at the bottom of the totem pole.” Silence filled the room. Glass ran his finger inside his shirt collar. “Wellington.” He whispered the name.
Bronson frowned. “The old steel magnate? With all the money he has, why would he want to get involved with this?”
“Mr. Wellington has been critically ill for a long time. He’s always thought his daughter Amanda to be worthless. When he passes on, she will only inherit one hundred thousand dollars, and she’ll be allowed to keep her personal possessions. The rest of the billions will be donated to charity. Amanda was livid. She wants to prove to her father she has—how should I say this?—nerves of steel. The master mind isn’t Mr. Wellington, but his daughter, Amanda.”
Chapter 76
Shortly after Bronson walked out of Glass’ office, Joe and Cannady stepped in. Bronson smiled at the irony. The lawyer would soon need a lawyer.
“Ready to head home?” Mike opened his hand and wiggled his fingers.
Bronson nodded and handed him the car keys. Minutes later, they headed down the freeway toward Ellen’s house.
Bronson drew a deep breath, filling his lungs to maximum capacity, and slowly exhaled. He rolled down the car window and focused on the variety of trees, black cherries growing among red and white oaks next to a cluster of hard and soft maples. Amazing how the same type of trees that now enveloped him with peace had several hours ago, filled his world with terror.
As usual, Mike drove and Bronson sat in the passenger seat. “You doing okay now?” Mike sped up so he could keep up with the traffic in the freeway.
Bronson nodded. “Sure, even though I would really like to know who ordered Lorraine’s death.”
“You figure it’s got to be either Wellington or Glass?” Mike cast a glance at the car’s digital clock. He pressed the gas pedal a bit harder. The speedometer needle climbed.
“If that’s the case, then the Raven or one of the twins pulled the trigger. I can’t imagine either Glass or Wellington getting their hands dirty.”
Mike changed lanes. The next exit was his. “Between the Raven and the twins, who do you think was the assassin?”
“More than likely, one of the twins. If the Raven had done it, she would have told me. She made no mention what-so-ever of Lorraine’s death.”
“That leaves the twins.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Mike snuck a glance at Bronson. “Maybe? Tell me you’re not thinking of pursuing this any further.”
“I’m not thinking of pursuing this any further.”
“Now say it like you mean it.”
“I’m not thinking of pursuing this any further.”
“That sounded the same.”
Bronson shrugged.
“You need to let Joe Randig and Cannady unravel the last threads in this case all by themselves.”
“Fine with me. I told you I don’t plan to interfere.”
“You don’t?” A trace of doubt crept into his voice.
“Nope.”
“Uh, oh. What gives?”
Bronson shifted positions. “Nothin’. Even though I’ve just met Detective Randig, I feel he’s very competent. So is Cannady. We’ve led them to this art theft ring, so we’ve done our share. It’s up to them to wrap up the loose ends.”
Mike frowned. “Tell me what you’re not telling me.”
“Nothin’ to tell.” Bronson turned away from Mike.
“I hope so, because I have a surprise for you.”
“Oh?”
“Carol’s here.”
Bronson’s eyes lit up, then immediately dimmed. “Does she know about what happened out there in the forest?”
“No, she doesn’t. I figure if you wanted to tell her, that would be up to you.”
“How did you explain my absence?”
“Told her you were having trouble with the cell and had gone to get it fixed.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
“You’re welcome, especially since you know I hate to lie, even little white lies bother me.”
“I know.” Bronson caught the name of the next exit. He tried to orient himself, figuring out how far they were from Ellen’s house. “When did Carol arrive?”
“She hasn’t yet. She’s due in half an hour. That’s why I’ve been speeding, trying to get you home in time.”
“Once again, I’m indebted to you.”
“And I will collect.”
“I’m sure.” Mike executed a right and turned into Ellen’s street. “I know you called Little Carol and told her about Lorraine, but did you ever call Donna?”
Shiiit. He’d forgotten about his youngest daughter. He pulled out his cell.
Chapter 77
A solitary figure sat at the far side of the bar, nursing his beer, rubbing his chin. Above him, a neon sign advertising Coors flashed with bright red and white letters and served as the bar’s main source of light. The wall to his right bore the names of the troopers wh
o had been killed in the line of duty. Several framed pictures, mostly of cops in uniform and most with their families, adorned the bar’s walls.
He was neither a policeman nor was he in any way associated with the police force, but he liked this bar and the regulars accepted him even though none spoke to him. That’s the way he liked it. Often, his business brought him to My Kind of Place Bar, and he felt confident in the knowledge that he’d be able to conduct his business without any nosey troopers interfering with him. Today would be no exception.
Two plain clothed policemen, whom he knew were detectives, entered the bar and stood by the door. Both squinted, allowing their eyes to adjust to the darkness.
The man, waiting for them, picked up his beer and chose an empty table close to the bar. He sat down. The detectives approached and waved a hello as they pulled out the chairs and sat beside him. The man nodded a hello.
They sat in silence while waiting for the bartender. Seconds later, he stood by their table, took their orders and left.
The man took a swig of the beer he had been nursing. “What’s the word?”
The younger of the two detectives, who looked more like a teenager than an adult, spoke first. “Word has it that Bronson killed the Raven. He knows about the art theft ring and was informed his sister found out about it before she was killed. Had she lived, she would have come to us with that information.”
The man leaned back on his chair, smiled, and drank his beer. He set the mug down and rubbed his chin. “That’s wonderful news.”
“We thought you’d like that.”
The college age bartender placed two more beer mugs on the table and a plate filled with pretzels. Once he was out of hearing range, the man reached for a pretzel and ate it. “What else do you have?”
“Randig is working the case.” This time the other detective answered. “He’s traced the thefts to a lawyer by the name of Sam Glass.”
“I know him.” He continued to rub his chin. “He’s quite an influential man.”
“Not anymore.” The detective laughed and raised his beer mug.
The other detective did the same and both clinked glasses. “One less thug loose in the streets.”
You should talk. He kept the comment to himself. He was about to rub his chin but stopped himself. Somehow, he’d have to break that habit. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, seems this whole deal wasn’t orchestrated by the lawyer. He’s simply the man in the middle. He arranges the meetings between buyer and seller. That makes him a pawn in the theft world. The real ring leader is Amanda Wellington.”
“The heir to the Wellington steel wealth?”
“None other.”
The man emptied his beer mug and stuffed more pretzels in his mouth. “This is perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
“That’s what we say.”
“Thank you for the information. As always, I would like to compensate you for your time and efforts.” He reached into his pocket, retrieved two envelopes, and handed each policeman one. He rubbed his chin and stood up. “I’ll report your findings to my boss. I know this news will be welcomed.” He ate one more pretzel and walked out.
Chapter 78
Half an hour after Bronson and Mike pulled into Ellen’s driveway, Carol arrived. By then Bronson had showered, shaved, and changed. He felt human again. Mike and Ellen opted to watch T.V. while Bronson sat on Ellen’s porch, rocking the time away, waiting for Carol to arrive. Soon as he saw the camper, he stood and sprinted toward the sidewalk, a big smile plastered on his face.
Carol parked the van and got out. Her eyes danced with anticipation as she ran into his opened arms.
She felt warm and comfortable. It felt so good and natural to hold her. He kissed her lips. “I missed you.” He gently stroked her hair.
“Me, too and frankly, I was scared.”
Bronson stepped back to see into her eyes. “Scared? Why scared?”
“I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought.”
She knew. Dang it, somehow she knew. “Let’s go inside and greet Mike and Ellen. Afterwards, we’ll go into the bedroom, and I’ll tell you the whole story.” He wrapped his arm around her and led her inside.
*****
The sign blinked each word separately. My . . . Kind . . . of . . . Place . . . Bar. Then all together the phrase flashed several times. Then back to each individual word. The man stood under the sign, contemplating what he should do. The more he thought, the harder he rubbed his chin.
He knew his boss was at this very moment surrounded by a fast growing group of friends. If his boss were to accomplish all his goals, then tonight’s events must be the focus of attention.
On the other hand, his boss had given him specific instructions. If he were to learn the smallest of details, he was to immediately report his findings.
What the man had learned tonight was huge. His boss would want to know immediately. That knowledge would even make the evening more enjoyable. Yet something told him to wait, verify the information.
He went against his gut feeling and made the call. The cell rang three times before the boss picked up. “I’ll call you back.” Didn’t even wait for a response, simply hung up.
The man waited twelve minutes before his boss returned the call. He wanted to let the jerk know that his time was also valuable, but he bit his tongue and accepted it as part of the job.
At least his boss was apologetic. “I hated to keep you waiting, but you know how it goes. Those were the longest twelve minutes of my life, not knowing what you had to say. I hope you have good news for me. Again, I apologize for the delay, but I’m here now. I’m all ears.”
“I have better news than you could possibly imagine.” He explained about the art theft ring and how Lorraine threatened to expose them.
“That’s fantastic news.” The boss remained silent for a moment. “You’ve worked for me through thick and thin all of these years. I’m gearing up for the big event—it’s going to happen, no doubt about it.”
“Let me be the first to congratulate you.”
“Let my so-called better half be the first. You can be second.”
Both laughed.
The boss continued, “I’m giving you full freedom. Do as you see best. You don’t have to check in with me any longer. I trust you will make the right decision and know that whatever you choose, I will support you.”
“Even if it means killing Bronson?”
“That may be the best route to go.”
*****
Ellen rolled over in bed and kissed Mike goodnight on the cheek.
A goodnight kiss on the cheek.
That’s how it had started the last time, right before she told him she wanted a divorce. He rolled over, his back to Ellen. Outside, the shadows cast by the full moon and prodded along by the gentle breeze, danced across the window.
Maybe it wasn’t meant for them to be together. Ellen would always hate and fear his job. He would always love and sacrifice all for his career.
Maybe the forbidden nature of their relationship lured him. Even as a kid, his desire for what he wasn’t suppose to do or have fueled him. He imagined that had been the reason he became a law officer—always dipping into the darker side, the forbidden side.
He knew Bronson’s ordeal would chip away into Ellen’s fortitude, but he had hoped it wouldn’t happen this fast. His gaze strayed to a photo Ellen kept on top of the nightstand. It had been taken when both were young, when innocence still filled their lives. At that time, dreams and ambitions dictated their actions and filled their thoughts and souls.
Mike closed his eyes, wishing the picture would fade away. He still loved Ellen, even more now than then. But he also loved his job.
His damn job.
Tonight, sleep would pass him by, and he’d be doomed to spend the night analyzing his life and the decisions he’d made from the perspective of distance. From that angle, he saw his world as an empty shell.
In the next room, Caro
l probably lay in Bronson’s arms and for that instant, Mike hated Bronson.
Chapter 79
Bronson, Carol, Mike, and Ellen sat around the breakfast table in Ellen’s dining room. Mike wiped his hands and pushed the empty plate away. “Oh yeah, I remember everybody in the force thinking Bronson was the man. Nothing would faze him. He was unbeatable. Then it came time for Carol to deliver. The man fell apart.”
Bronson sipped his coffee. “Oh come on, now. I wasn’t that bad.”
Ellen let out a hearty laugh. “You weren’t that bad? I had to drive Carol to the hospital because you drove yourself and forgot to take Carol with you.”
The ringing of the doorbell prevented Bronson from defending himself.
“Who could that be?” Ellen stood up and glanced at her watch. “It’s only eight-thirty.” She left and returned a few minutes later. “It’s for you, Bronson. A man wants to talk to you.”
“Did he say what he wanted? Who he was?”
Ellen shook her head. “I got the impression he would only talk to you.”
Bronson stood and Mike followed him.
Ellen had left the front door open and Bronson could see the man through the screen door. Even though he was in his late thirties or early forties, he had taken good care of himself. His firm stomach and bulging biceps revealed he spent time in the gym. He stood firm and tall, a man accustomed to getting what he wanted. “Mr. Bronson?”
Bronson nodded.
“My name is Willis Durango.”
With the man’s light brown hair and cool, ice blue eyes, Bronson would have never pegged him for a Hispanic. “What can I do for you, Mr. Durango?”
“I’m here to talk about Lorraine. She and I worked together.”
Bronson took a step back, opened the screen door, and pointed to the couch.
Durango not only sat on the couch, but leaned back on it, a man at ease with the world.
Bronson waited until everyone sat down. “You said you and Lorraine worked together?”
“At the school.” Durango brought his hand toward his face and scratched his chin.