Death Vetoes The Chairman (Lizzie Crenshaw Mysteries Book 7) (25 page)

Chapter 34

“Lizzie, wait!” I turned around to see T.J. jogging my way.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were going to help Owen beat a confession out of Ethan.”

“He suggested I go with you, probably to make sure I didn’t kill Ethan.”

“I’m sure it was to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid,” I said, digging my keys out of my bag and unlocking the car door.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m not sure where I’m going. I just thought I’d drive around for a while and clear my head.”

T.J. stood by the passenger side and looked at me. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“You tell me.”

He cocked his head to one side. “You’re planning to drive over to Barbara’s apartment, aren’t you?”

“Of course not. What makes you think that?”

“Because you have that determined look on your face. Pop the lock, let’s go.”

“You can’t go with me. Owen will be seriously ticked off if you get arrested.”

T.J. pulled out his phone. “Give me a minute,” he said, stepping away from the car.

I got into the car while he made his call. After a couple of minutes, he joined me. “All good.”

“What do you mean?”

“I talked to Hopkins, and he’s going to arrange for us to have access to the apartment.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he doesn’t want to throw you in jail anymore than I do. He also said that when you've stuck your nose into his cases, you’ve been quite helpful.”

“So he’s hoping I’ll see something the FBI or the local police haven’t yet,” I replied, starting the car and backing out into the street.

“Something like that.”

“Why is this an FBI case?”

“Because of Ethan. Hopkins wants to make sure that Barbara’s disappearance isn’t his father’s way of keeping him from testifying.”

“I don’t think Edward would do that,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Ethan has never had a meaningful relationship with anyone in his life; surely his father realizes this. Kidnapping Barbara wouldn’t even be a blip on Ethan’s radar. He’d see it as someone else’s problem.”

We spent the drive talking about hypothetical scenarios for both disappearances, but none of them made any sense. An hour later, we parked in the apartment complex near a patrol car. “Looks like they still have people here,” T.J. said.

“Are you sure they’re going to let us in?”

“Just let me do the talking.”

When we got to Barbara’s apartment, we were stopped by a young officer, who didn’t look like he had been out of the academy too long. “I’m sorry, but this is a crime scene,” he told us. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

T.J. pulled out his I.D. “Agent Hopkins was supposed to call over here a little while ago to clear us for access.”

“Let me check, sir.” The officer went inside, where we heard some low murmurings before he came back. “Detective McConnell says to go ahead, but he wants you to talk to you first,” he said.

“How does it look in there?” I asked him.

The young officer looked over his shoulder before looking back at me and shaking his head. “Like an EF5 went through there, ma’am,” he said. “It’s a total mess.”

“Any blood?” I said, hoping the answer was no.

“I’m afraid so, ma’am.” I shook my head. “I hope the young woman who lived here got a piece of her attacker. It must have been one heck of a fight.”

We walked inside, and I was shocked by what I saw. Things were strewn everywhere; the glass coffee table was shattered. It looked like something, or someone, had been thrown on top of it. “Good Lord,” I whispered.

“I’m Detective Ed McConnell,” a grey-haired man said as he came around the corner. “You two must be pretty important for the FBI to call me.”

“I’m Agent T.J. Roosevelt,” T.J. said, showing McConnell his I.D. “This is Elizabeth Crenshaw. We think this could be connected to a case I’m working on.”

“What case?”

T.J. smiled. “I’m sorry, that’s classified.”

McConnell glared at him, then looked at me. “And what’s your story, Ms. Crenshaw?”

“I met the woman who lives here. I’m just here as a consultant,” I lied.

“What can you tell me about her?” he asked, taking out a notepad and pen from his pocket.

I glanced at T.J., who shook his head. “I’m not sure what I’m allowed to tell you.”

“I know that this place is actually leased to an Ethan Winthrop. Do you know him?”

“Hardly at all.”

“What was his relationship with the woman living here?”

“I believe they were dating,” I answered. T.J. gave me an aggravated look. “I saw them together at a fundraiser last month.”

“Where can I get in touch with Mr. Winthrop?” McConnell said.

“The morgue,” T.J. told him.

The detective arched an eyebrow. “Who put him there?”

“We don’t know,” T.J. said.

“Was she a suspect in his murder?”

“No,” T.J. shook his head, “she has a solid alibi. But we want to make sure that her disappearance isn’t connected to his murder.”

“Why would it be?” McConnell said suspiciously.

“Winthrop was the son of an important businessman, who was involved in some important business negotiations with some very tough customers. Ms. Stephenson may have accidentally overheard something that she shouldn’t have, which could be the reason she has disappeared.”

“You think someone threatened her?”

T.J. shrugged. “Right now, we don’t know what to think.”

“What kind of business negotiations are we talking about here?”

“I’m sorry, classified.”

McConnell looked shocked. “You mean this has something to do with national security?”

T.J. just smiled and shrugged.

“I’ll need access to your case files regarding Winthrop’s death.”

“Actually, Detective McConnell, I’ll need
your
notes about this,” T.J. replied. “We’ll probably be taking over the case from here.”

“But…but you can’t do that,” he sputtered. His face started turning red.

“If you’ll check with your superior officer, you will find it’s already been done. We appreciate the help that you’ve provided so far in securing the crime scene.”

“This is outrageous!”

“Come off it, McConnell. You’ve been in the game long enough to know how this works,” T.J. said, stepping closer to him. “Do you really want to get into a pissing match with the FBI?”

McConnell opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Ripping some pages out of his notebook, he shoved them at T.J. “What do I care? Knock yourself out.” He stormed out of the apartment.

The officer who had been guarding the door came inside. “What did you say to him? He nearly ran me over as he left.”

“Nothing,” T.J. said. “Is he always so sensitive?”

He looked over his shoulder to make sure McConnell hadn’t come back. “He’s due to retire next month. Rumor around the station is his wife wants to move closer to her mother…in South Dakota. He hates cold weather, and he really hates his mother-in-law.”

“Sounds like it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” I said, trying hard to keep from laughing.

“I would appreciate it if you would continue to stand guard at the door, Officer…”

“Barkley, sir. Grant Barkley.”

“How long have you been on the force?” I asked him.

“Five years, ma’am.” He chuckled when he saw the shocked look on my face. “This baby face comes in handy when they need someone to do drug buys.”

“All right, Officer Barkley, were you the first one here?” T.J. said.

“Actually, Detective McConnell was here before me, which was rather odd.”

“What do you mean?” Barkley seemed reluctant to say anything else. “Whatever you tell me won’t go further than the three of us, I promise.”

“Well,” he said, scratching his chin, “normally, you can’t get him to leave his desk for anything less than a homicide, and sometimes, not even then.”

“Really? What did he say when you got here?”

“Just barked at me to stand outside and not let anyone in.”

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary when you came in?”

“You mean besides seeing McConnell here?” Barkley looked around the room. “It looks pretty much the same, from what I can tell.”

“And where was McConnell when you came in?” I said.

He pointed to a desk on the far side of the room. “He was there. When I came in, he slammed the second drawer shut.”

T.J. nodded thoughtfully. “Anything else?”

“He seemed nervous, but I’m not sure why. For a moment…”

“What?” I said.

“I got the feeling he actually expected someone else to come through the door. When he saw me, he acted like a kid who got caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.”

Barkley didn’t have much more to tell us, so he went back outside. “Why did you let McConnell believe you were still with the FBI?”

“Hopkins wants to keep the fact that Ethan is still alive under wraps. ‘Any means necessary’ is what he told me.”

“I’m not thrilled with the way he’s handled the whole thing,” I scoffed. “And since we’re on the subject, explain to me how he managed to fake the whole death scene and autopsy.”

“Does a magician explain how he does all his tricks?” I crossed my arms and glared at him. T.J. held up his hands in front of him. “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not true.”

“And what am I thinking?”

“You’re thinking that I knew about Hopkins’ plan to fake Ethan’s death.”

“Did you?”

“Not a clue. I wouldn’t put you through something like that.” He pulled out some latex gloves, and handed a pair to me.

“What exactly am I looking for?” I said, putting them on.

“A paper trail would be a good place to start,” T.J. said, walking over to the desk. “I wonder what McConnell was looking for?”

“Blackmail material? Pornographic pictures? Dirty magazines?”

He looked at me. “Your mind is in the gutter, isn’t it?”

“She’s not as sweet and angelic as she wants everyone to believe.”

“And you know this how?”

“Women’s intuition.”

“Well, let’s just get them to issue an arrest warrant right now,” T.J. joked.

I resisted the urge to slug him. “Who moves over a thousand miles away, changes their name, and hooks up with a man who was accused of murdering her half-sister?”

“Someone looking for revenge,” T.J. said, opening the second drawer that Barkley said he had seen McConnell going through. “This will go a lot faster if we split up.”

“Of course it will,” I said. “Any particular place you’d like me to search,
Agent
Roosevelt?”

“The bedroom,” he said.

“Silly me,” I mumbled as I walked away. “Of course, the bedroom. It should have been obvious.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing…nothing at all.”

I walked into Barbara’s bedroom and looked around. The damage wasn’t as bad as the living room. Whoever had searched in here didn’t expect to find what they were looking for or gave up. I stopped for a minute. Women were sneakier about hiding things than men, especially things they didn’t want to be found.

A college roommate once told me that she used to hide things from her brothers in a tampon box, because no man in his right mind would ever touch it. There was a large bathroom off to the left. I went in and opened the cabinet door. Three pink boxes were on the bottom shelf. I grabbed them, went back into the bedroom, and dumped them on the bed. On top was a flash drive with a familiar looking kitten on it. Huh. I never would have guessed she liked cats. “Any luck out there?”

“I found some files with different names on them,” T.J. replied, coming into the bedroom. “What about you?”

“Oh, just some tampons,” I said.

“So I see.”

“With a flash drive.”

“You’re joking.”

I held it up. “Nope.”

T.J. took it from me. “Never would have thought to look in there.” He handed it back.

“Because you’re a man, and this is woman stuff,” I teased him. “Besides, I’m sure as a former FBI agent, you looked in plenty of tampon boxes.”

“No comment,” he laughed.

“What about those files?”

T.J. led the way back to the living room. “Women’s names, from all the world,” he said, handing me a manila folder.

“Constance Benedict, a photographer from New York.” I flipped through the pictures. “She’s pretty good.”

He handed me another file. “Rita Newton from Los Angeles. A secretary for a talent agency.” He picked up another one. “Penelope Dixon, London. Gabrielle Delacroix, Paris. Valentina Sepulveda, Madrid.”

“I don’t understand. Why does she have files on all these women?”