Birds of Prey : Previously Copub Sequel to the Hour of the Hunter (9780061739101) (25 page)

“And you don't think she did it?”

“No. I'm convinced it was someone from one of the other cars, but the detectives hit on Lucy and they didn't bother looking any further. I don't think they even interviewed any passengers from the other cars. I'm worried they're going to put pressure on Lucy and buffalo her into confessing in order to cover up their own sloppy police work.”

Ralph thought about that for a second. “So she needs help immediately if not sooner.”

“Right.”

“Let me go to work on this,” he said. “What's your number? I'll get back to you.”

“This isn't my phone,” I said. “Somebody lent me a cell phone so I could call you from here. I don't have the foggiest idea about the ship's number.”

“I'm a big boy,” Ralph Ames said. “If the
Starfire Breeze
has a number, I'll be able to find it and get back to you. Now, what are the names of those two detectives again?”

“Sonny Liebowitz and Jake Ripley,” I told him.

“And the woman's name?”

“Lucy Conyers. Her husband's name was Mike.”

I heard the scratch of pen on paper as Ralph jotted down the names. “Good enough,” he said. “Now get off the phone and let me go to work. Tell Beverly not to worry.”

“I will,” I said.

Having heard the words straight from Ralph Ames' mouth, I knew that I wouldn't worry as much, either. I just hoped Lucy Conyers wouldn't have a nervous breakdown before Ralph could protect her from what I was ashamed to think of as “the law” in Skagway.

W
E ARRIVED BACK
in Skagway in brilliant late-afternoon sunlight. But even though the weather had changed, the group that trudged back up the
Starfire Breeze
's gangplank was more bedraggled than they had been when we left during the morning downpour. Without Mike and Lucy Conyers along, the people in our little group were feeling mighty low. They were all terribly grieved by what had happened—grieved and taking it personally. Then, too, none of us had eaten a full meal since forenoon coffee all those hours ago.

“I don't think we'll be coming down for dinner tonight, Jonas,” Beverly told me quietly as we stood in the crowded elevator lobby along with everyone else who had been on the ill-fated train ride. “Lars isn't quite up to facing the dining room. We'll just order from Room Service and have a little something sent up to our room.”

I didn't need her to tell me that Lars was hurting. His weathered face sagged. The spryness was gone from his step. His usual hale-and-hearty coloring was tinged with gray. In all the years I've known him, I don't ever remember having seen him look worse.

“Do you think maybe he should go to the Infirmary and see the doctor?” I asked. “Or would you like me to come along up to the room and help?”

“Oh, no. I think he's better off working through this on his own. We'll be fine, Jonas. You do whatever it is you need to do. Hopefully that nice Mr. Ames will be back in touch with you and we can start getting this awful mess straightened out.”

“I'll do my best,” I assured her.
Whatever that might be
.

Back in the stateroom I was glad to see that the rib-killing roll-away bed had been removed. I located Rachel Dulles' business card and phoned her in her cabin. “What's up?” she asked when I identified myself.

“Did you hear what happened on the train?” I asked.

“Something about an old man falling off.”

“His name is Mike Conyers,” I told her. “And he didn't fall; he was pushed. The problem is, the detectives on the case are convinced his wife did it. They've taken her into Skagway for questioning.”

“So?”

“I don't believe Mike Conyers was the real target,” I told her. “I think they were after Marc Alley and missed.”

There was a pause. “Where are you?”

“In my room.”

“I'll be right there,” she said.

Hector, the room attendant, was out in the hallway with his cart when I opened the door to let Rachel Dulles in. He smiled and gave me a knowing nod.
It's not what you think
, I wanted to say to him. Instead, I followed her inside and closed the door behind us.

“What happened?” she asked, and I told her.

“What's your theory?” Rachel wanted to know when I finished.

“I think whoever did it, under the cover of darkness, followed Marc down the aisle, shoved him hard enough to knock him over the guardrail, and then raced back to his seat.”

“Without anyone realizing he'd been gone,” Rachel added.

“Right.”

“Only, Marc was knocked off-balance. He fell, all right, but inside the guardrail instead of over it. In the confusion, Mike Conyers is the one who actually went over the top.”

“So the LITG operative is one of the passengers on the train. That narrows the field a little because the train doesn't hold all the passengers at once and crew members don't generally take those trips at all. I'll check with the purser's office and get a printout of the people who did sign up for the train.”

“Thanks,” I said. “At least somebody seems to be listening. That's more than I can say for the detectives on the case. The problem is, just because whoever it was missed getting Marc this time doesn't mean they won't try again. And an innocent old woman whose husband of fifty-five years has just died stands accused of murdering him.”

Rachel wasn't particularly interested in Lucy Conyers' plight. “Marc knows about all this then?”

I nodded. “I told him last night, but he didn't take me very seriously. After what happened this morning, all that is changed.”

“You're right,” she said. “It is changed. I appreciate your help, Beau, but from now on, I'm taking charge of the Marc Alley problem myself.”

“You're firing me?”

Rachel Dulles smiled. “I'm advising you to quit,” she told me. “Obviously Leave It To God has upped the ante. If innocent civilians are getting killed, I can't in good conscience have you involved.”

I figured I knew how to take care of myself, but I also knew she was doing what was necessary to keep the Agency from incurring any further liability if something did happen to me. Not only that, I was happy to be let loose of the responsibility. Lars Jenssen may have lost his grasp on Mike Conyers' coat, but I was the one who had dropped the ball. When Marc Alley went outside, I should have gone, too.

“Fair enough,” I said. “I quit.”

“I'd better be going then,” she said, starting for the door. “I think I'll go introduce myself to Mr. Alley.”

“Let me warn you in advance. He's not enamored of FBI agents.”

“Who is?”

“Wait,” I said. “Before you go, tell me, what's been happening here?”

Rachel resumed her seat. “Well, Harrison Featherman chartered a float plane. He left Leila and Chloe here and flew over to meet up with the Coast Guard crews who are looking for Margaret. Just to be on the safe side, Alex went along with him.”

“Anything else?”

She shrugged. “Not too much. Todd Bowman managed to get copies of Margaret's two faxes. Not much there, I'm afraid. One is from a friend of hers, a guy named Grant Tolliver, who works for a company called Genesis, the same company Margaret worked for. He said things were looking good for the stock sale and that he'd let her know what happens. The other fax was more interesting. It's a draft copy of Harrison Featherman's new will. In the event of his death, half his assets would go to his new wife and any surviving children from that union. The remainder of his estate would be divided between Chloe Featherman and Melissa Pepper, in equal shares or survivor.”

“Someone sent Margaret a copy of her ex-husband's new will? Who?”

“I have no idea. The fax came from a Kinko's. We've got someone trying to trace the fax, but whoever sent it evidently paid cash.”

“In other words, whoever sent it didn't want to be found.”

Rachel nodded. “I suspect it came from someone in the lawyer's office—a legal secretary maybe, or else just a lowly clerk who jumped at the opportunity Margaret offered to make a quick buck. The draft copies are numbered, but whoever did this was smart enough to remove the number before they made their copy.”

“And when did that arrive?”

“Here on the ship? It was clocked in at three-ten. I have no idea what time it was delivered to Margaret.”

“But as soon as it was and she had a chance to read it, that's when she went ape-shit and called Naomi Pepper to raise hell.”

“Right. Which is why Todd is focusing his investigation on her and whoever the guy is who helped her,” Rachel explained. “And I can't say I blame him. Friends may not let friends drive drunk, but they don't screw around with their friends' husbands, either.”

I was tempted to repeat what Naomi had told me about the motivation behind her engaging in sexual relations with Harrison Featherman, but I didn't. There wasn't much point. Defending Naomi to an FBI agent who wasn't even directly involved in the investigation of Margaret Featherman's disappearance seemed like a bad idea.

This time when Rachel Dulles got up and started for the door, I made no attempt to stop her. She had barely stepped into the hallway when my phone rang. “Beaumont here,” I said, picking up the receiver.

“My name's Carol Ehlers. Ralph Ames is a friend of mine.”

I've come to believe Ralph Ames wrote the book on networking. I've yet to find a place where he doesn't have a contact or an acquaintance he can call on to pull a few strings or do whatever needs doing.

“This is about Lucy Conyers?” I asked.

“One and the same,” she replied. “I'm up in Juneau, but I practice all over southeast Alaska. I have my own plane, a Turbo Beaver, and could fly there from Juneau. The problem is, I have no idea whether or not Mrs. Conyers will actually want my help when I get there, to say nothing of whether or not she'll be able to pay for it. Is she indigent and likely to need a public defender?”

My mind stuck on the Turbo Beaver part. DeHaviland Beavers are top-of-the-line bush-pilot float planes, and they don't come cheap. If Carol Ehlers had her own and piloted it, too, she was not only someone to reckon with, but she was definitely the high-priced spread. Of course, since she was a friend of Ralph's, I shouldn't have been surprised.

“I don't know about the public-defender bit,” I replied. “Lucy's not indigent, I don't think, but she's not loaded either. But, if you don't mind, Ms. Ehlers—”

“Please call me Carol,” she interjected.

“And I'm Beau,” I told her. “If you don't mind, I'd be more than willing to pay for you to fly down here and do an initial consult.”

“Skagway is actually up from Juneau, not down. And that's very generous of you—more generous than you know, since my hourly rate is quite steep. Are you sure you want to do that?”

“Lucy Conyers is a friend of my grandparents,” I explained. “My grandmother, Beverly Jenssen, is the one who insisted that I call Ralph looking for help. She's not going to stand for it if I end up telling her, ‘Sorry. Nothing I could do.' No, compared to that, paying whatever you charge will be a bargain.”

Carol Ehlers laughed aloud at that. “All right. Is there anything else I should know?”

“Lucy Conyers' husband was an Alzheimer's patient. From what I can tell, she's been caring for him all by herself for months, if not years. So, in addition to being in a state of shock at her husband's death, the poor woman is worn down—right to the nub. I'm afraid the detectives on the case are going try taking advantage of her weakened state and bamboozle her into incriminating herself.”

“Who are the detectives?”

“One's named Jake Ripley. He's probably all right. The one I'm really worried about is an Alaska state trooper named Sonny Liebowitz.”

“Great,” Carol Ehlers said. “Mr. Missing Miranda Liebowitz himself.”

“You know him then?”

“When Sonny Liebowitz chose to leave his native Chicago behind in favor of coming here, in my opinion, Chicago's gain turned out to be Alaska's loss. Yes, I've had my share of dealings with Detective Sonny Liebowitz. So has every other criminal defense attorney in southeast Alaska. What's going on?”

“The last I knew, Liebowitz and his partner were hustling Lucy into a patrol car and were about to drive her into Skagway.”

“If Sonny Liebowitz was calling the shots, they probably ended up driving into town the long way.”

I remembered seeing only a single road. “There is a long way?” I asked.

“That's a joke, Mr. Beaumont,” Carol Ehlers told me. “Sorry. Sonny's well known for obtaining patrol-car-based confessions which, likely as not, end up being thrown out of court. Actually, having Detective Liebowitz on the case could end up working in our favor. So what's the deal here?”