Evelyn David - Sullivan Investigations 02 - Murder Takes the Cake (22 page)

Jeff came on the line.
“Is Mac there?”

“
Yes, in the other room. Do you want to talk to him?”

“
No, tell him I’ll pick him up in fifteen minutes. I need his help finding something. Won’t take too long.”

“
Kathleen just told me about Sean. Are you really worried–”

“
Oh, I’m sure he’s fine; he’s off somewhere doing something he shouldn’t be. No, I need Mac’s help with something else. He helped me move some of my parents’ furniture into a warehouse about ten years ago and I’m hoping he remembers where we put a couple of lamps Kathleen wants to give Bridget and Joshua as a wedding gift. Ugliest damn lamps you’ve ever seen, but they’re antiques and Bridget always liked them as a kid.”

“
I’ll tell him.”

“
Thanks. Since Kathleen is holding dinner until Sean makes an appearance, I want to go get the lamps now. Good excuse to get out of the line of fire. Bridget and Joshua are fighting about something and Kathleen claims I’m enjoying it too much.”

Rachel shook her head. She didn
‘t envy Kathleen trying to deal with the circus in her home right now. She hung up the phone and looked at the two expectant faces staring at her. “Okay, okay. I’ll chop up a couple of hot dogs and we’ll call it dessert. But first, let’s see if the gumshoe in the next room wants something else to eat too before Jeff gets here.”

They moved en masse to the living room.

Mac was asleep in the chair, the empty coffee cup balanced on his knee.

***

“It smells bad down here,” Sean complained. “Tell me again what we’re looking for?”

“
We’ll know it when we see it.” JJ panned the flashlight over the dirt floor, then up the rock walls. “These must be original walls.”

“
You mean like a couple of hundred years old?”

“
Maybe. Do you know how big this cellar is? Does it stretch all the way under the warehouse?”

“
Uh dount new.”

“
What? Are you eating something?” She pointed the flashlight directly into Sean’s face. “You are!”

He pulled a small bag from his jeans pocket.
“Valomilks. Want one?”

“
Those old fashioned, chocolate marshmallow things?”

“
Cups. Chocolate marshmallow cups. Yeah, my Dad orders them every November from a store in Vermont and hides them from us. Maura says he’s been doing this since she was in first grade. He keeps moving his stash around, but we always find them. This year he’s hiding them in a big plastic salt-free butter tub in the vegetable drawer. Like I wouldn’t check that out! But he’s tricky; he never puts them in the same place twice.”

“
You steal candy too? And from your Dad?”

“
Geez, you make it sound like I’m some kind of…of.…”

“
Delinquent?” JJ suggested.

Sean grimaced.
“That’s harsh!”

“
Well, what do you call it?”

“
I call it humoring my Dad. He’d be disappointed if we didn’t help him eat them.”

“
That isn’t right.”

“
No. Really. He knows we take the–”

“
I’m not talking about the candy. Look!” She pointed the flashlight towards a small brightly colored cardboard box on the floor. “What is that?”

Sean put the candy back in his pocket and then retrieved the box.
“Rat poison. The kind where the rats eat it and then crawl away somewhere else to die.”

“
So someone thinks you’ve got a rat problem around here,” JJ said, moving farther from the stairs. “There are more boxes over here. And some rats who bellied up to the bar and didn’t leave.”

A loud metal clang boomed, echoing throughout the cellar.

Sean, flashlight in hand, ran towards the staircase, leaving JJ kneeling in the darkness.

“
Hey! Be careful with that light.” JJ scrambled to catch up with him.

They were both too slow.

The grate was down. As they moved up the wooden stairs, they heard the lock snap closed.

***

“Hey, we’re down here. Let us out!” Sean shouted through the grate, rattling the metal barrier with his hands. A dim light filtered through the grate. At least the lights in the warehouse were still turned on.

JJ didn
‘t believe for one moment someone had accidentally locked them in the old cellar. She also didn’t believe Sean’s screams would bring them freedom, but she knew better than to try to reason with him at that moment.

Stepping back, she picked up the forgotten flashlight and took another look around. There was nothing in the cellar but rat poison, dead rats, and the pungent odor of dead rats.

“Sean, stop yelling.”

He paused and gulped down some air.
“Someone locked us in. We’re going to die in here.”

“
Think a minute. This isn’t the Titanic. There’s no water filling this hole. We’re not about to die.”

“
No water, yet.” He gave her a weak smile. “Sorry. I don’t like caves much either.”

“
We’ve got time to consider some options. I have my Blackberry; we could call someone if we can manage to get a signal down here.”

“
Not my Dad.”

“
I was thinking maybe we call Mac. Someone else stole those caskets. What if they don’t bring all of them back?”

“
Well, we can’t call Mac either, that’s almost as bad as telling my father.” Sean began pacing. “And you call the police, they’ll want to know what we’re doing here and the whole casket thing will come out. Please, think of something else. Like you said, we’ve got time to consider some options. Don’t you know anybody who would help us out and not ask too many questions?”

“
Not any who are in town this week. How about one of your friends?”

Sean shook his head.
“I told you. I don’t have any friends.”

“
You’re breaking my heart,” JJ quipped.

He grabbed the flashlight from her.
“I’m going to see if there’s another way out.”

“
Literally or figuratively?” she called after him. He didn’t answer her, but at least he was past the screaming stage.

She climbed up the stairs. Pushing against the grate, she put her fingers through the openings near the location of the combination lock. She strained to reach the metal cylinder
‘s dial but her fingers were several inches too short and the angle was wrong.

She backed down two steps and looked straight up, through the grate.

A furry face was pressed against the grate from the other side, two eyes staring down at her.

This time she was the one who screamed.

“Who’s down there? Answer up quick or I’ll sic the Dobermans on you. They haven’t been fed yet this evening and they’re getting peckish!”

JJ watched Sean, who
‘d come running when she’d screamed, do some silent screaming of his own.

“
Oh, man. My life could not get any worse.” He bent down, putting his hands over the back of his head. “Could not get any worse.”

“
Yeah, it could. It always can.” JJ sighed. “Sorry kid, the gig is up. That sounds a lot like your father.” She felt for him. She’d known the odds of him being able to walk away clean from the casket scam were slim, but she’d hoped he’d have been able to confess on his own terms.

“
You know, JJ, my Dad doesn’t really have any Dobermans. Maybe…”

“
Sean! It’s time to give it up. You’re trapped–literally.”

“
Okay, okay. But what are we going to tell him?”

“
We? Oh, no. Not me. You. You just tell him the truth.”

“
The truth? About everything?”

“
That would be my suggestion. But you do what you think best.”

He took a deep breath and moved to stand beneath the grate.
“Dad, it’s me. Can you let us out?”

“
Who’s me? Who’s us? What the hell are you doing down there?”

“
Dad! Could you just let us out and we’ll explain later? JJ is with me.”

JJ heard a muffled conversation. Jeff might not have Dobermans, but he had someone with him.

“JJ? Sean, I can’t wait to hear you explain this one. So what’s the combination on this lock?”

JJ and Sean stared at each other and then the grate.
“It’s your lock, Dad. I don’t–”

“
I’m joking.” Jeff raised the grate, looked down at them and grinned. Mac Sullivan and Whiskey were standing next to him.

“
You two dating or what?” Mac asked.

JJ glanced at Sean
‘s hopeful expression. “Don’t even think about it.”

“
I saw the grate open and locked it; thought I’d forgotten the last time I was in here,” Jeff explained. “Sorry about scaring you.”

“
It’s okay. Dad, I need to tell you something.”

The group at the top of the stairs waited.

JJ waited for the teen to confess the theft of the caskets, first by himself and then by some unknown party. He wasn’t the only one nervous. Her boss wasn’t going to be happy about being kept in the dark. She was going to have her own explanations to make.

Sean swallowed hard and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.
“Dad, I’m sorry.… I ate your candy. All of it.”

***

JJ watched the interaction between father and son. She’d never seen anything like it–not in real life. Pacing back and forth, Sean had stumbled over his words at the beginning of his tale of high school isolation, adolescent desperation, and peer group pressure. His recitation of the facts had smoothed out as he’d relayed the details of stealing the first casket and the party that had made him a twenty-four hour star. And then as he got to the part where his success trapped him into taking bigger and bigger chances and more caskets, his voice dropped off to a mere whisper.

Through it all, Jeff sat on one of the plastic covered sofas and listened. He didn
‘t interrupt; didn’t ask questions.

Sean finished with a brief description of JJ
‘s involvement and the reappearance of one of the caskets, and then he plopped down next to his father, visibly exhausted.

JJ was surprised at Jeff
‘s calm. She’d always thought of Jeff as someone with a good sense of humor but with a fiery temper when crossed. She kept waiting for the explosion.

Jeff, elbows resting on his knees, looked towards the dusty floor and didn
‘t say anything.

Mac took her arm.
“Let’s see if we can find a pair of gargoyle lamps.”

She knew what he was doing, giving the pair some time alone, but surely he could have come up with a more believable excuse.
“Huh?”

As he led her to the other side of the warehouse he explained,
“Might be ugly angels. Hard to tell. Jeff’s mother found them at an auction when we were about twelve. Brass with little creatures crawling over the base and up towards a stained glass shade. She paid way too much according to Jeff’s father, but then again, Jeff’s father was one of those men who had the first nickel they’d ever earned. He was.…”

She stopped listening to Mac at some point. What he was saying wasn
‘t important, what she didn’t hear from behind her was. No yelling. No crying. No sounds of violence.

“
Will they be okay?” She looked back over her shoulder. Jeff was on his feet and he appeared to be talking now, waving his arms as though coaching a losing basketball team. Sean was the one staring at the floor now.

“
Don’t worry.” Mac nodded. “Jeff isn’t like his father.”

JJ sighed.
“Not like mine either. Sean’s lucky, even if he doesn’t know it right now.”

“
Let’s find those lamps and get out of here.”

“
They’re for real?”

Mac laughed.
“The lamps or the O’Herlihys?”

Chapter 17

“
Who do you think has those caskets?” Mac asked JJ twenty minutes later as they carried the lamps to Jeff’s car.

“
I don’t know.” She held both lamps as Mac opened the trunk of the Cadillac. “This probably doesn’t make sense, but it feels like someone new is getting involved.”

“
What do you mean by ‘new’?”

“
Well.” She paused to think about. “Everything else that’s going on seems to be connected to Bridget in some convoluted way. But this, this, seems different; even with the dead rat in the returned casket.”

“
Rachel mentioned that,” he said, taking the lamps from her and putting them in the trunk. “Jeff will have to sell that one as used.”

“
Did I tell you we found plenty of rats in the cellar? Or rather dead rats. The poison Jeff has out seems to be working.”

Mac slammed the trunk lid down.
“So you’re saying this time a cigar is just a cigar?”

***

“Snickers, not another morsel. You’re getting so fat you can barely fit on top of the refrigerator when Whiskey visits.”

The yellow fur butterball continued to rub Rachel
‘s ankles. Apparently references to her weight weren’t much of a deterrent to the cat seeking table scraps from dinner.

Rachel loaded the last of the plates in the dishwasher.
“You think they’re coming back?”

The feline, disappointed that no food was being offered, ignored the question and headed for the den and her favorite pillow.

“Thanks for the support. It’s so comforting to know I can always count on you.” Rachel wiped her hands on the dishtowel, made a final sweep of the counter, and was about to head upstairs when the doorbell rang.

She grinned, then schooled her face to look less like she was answering the door for her prom date.

“Hi, Rachel, is Mac here?”

It wasn
‘t her prom date. Instead, Bridget O’Herlihy, with a suspiciously red nose, was standing on her doorstep.

Rachel was confused.
“Your Dad picked him up about 40 minutes ago. You want to come in?”

Bridget stood on the front porch, shivering in the night wind.
“Do you know where they went?”

“
Something about.…” Rachel considered that Jeff was on a hunt for antique lamps that were to be a wedding gift for the couple. Maybe they were to be a surprise. She changed course.

“
I’m not sure why your Dad wanted Mac. They were looking for something and maybe for Sean too. Come on in out of the cold.” She waved Bridget into the house.

Rachel looked out to the street.
“Is Josh with you?”

Bridget stiffened.
“No. He…he had some errands.”

Rachel remembered Jeff had said that the couple had been arguing.
“Is he…is he meeting you here later?”

Bridget shook her head.
“I’m sorry to intrude. I needed to get some air and thought I’d check in with Uncle Mac. You’re probably busy.”

“
No, no.” Rachel insisted. “I could use the company. How about some tea?”

Bridget chuckled.
“Or scotch.”

Rachel stopped in her tracks, not sure how to handle anything but competent Bridget.
“Um, sure.”

The young woman fumbled in her pocket for a tissue to wipe her nose.
“Just kidding. Tea would be fine if it’s no trouble.”

“
Of course it isn’t, but I have a bottle of nice Merlot that might be even better. Go sit down. I’ll call Mac and ask him to meet you here when he’s finished with your Dad.”

Bridget nodded. She shrugged off her light coat and settled down on the same wing chair Mac had vacated.

Rachel left a message on Mac’s voicemail when the detective didn’t pick up his cell phone. She found the bottle of Merlot her brother had brought the previous Christmas, and searched through the junk drawer for a corkscrew.

She returned to the living room with two glasses of wine to find Bridget standing by the mantle peering at the array of family photos.

“You’re divorced, aren’t you?”

Rachel wasn
‘t prepared for the personal question.

“
Um, yes.”

“
How long were you married?”

Rachel laughed softly.
“How long was I married or how long was my husband married?”

“
Either, both.”

Rachel handed Bridget a glass of wine.
“Well, I was married for sixteen years. My husband was probably married for ten.”

Bridget raised an eyebrow.
“He cheated?”

Rachel snorted.
“That’s like saying Al Capone was a petty thief. He slept with every skirt that walked and would give him a chance.”

“
Why didn’t you kick him out?”

Rachel took a sip of her wine. She looked for a moment at a trio of school pictures of her son Sam.
“Lots of reasons, none of them that make any sense when I think back on it.”

“
What made you finally decide?”

Rachel shrugged.
“Wish I could say I finally channeled my inner Helen Reddy and kicked his sorry ass to the curb. But he left me. Tina, his dumbass girlfriend, made him choose.”

Bridget inhaled sharply.
“I’m so sorry.”

Rachel waved off the concern.
“Don’t be. I’m sorry I couldn’t make a decision when I should have, but thank God he was a bastard enough for us both.”

They moved to the sofa. Bridget seemed lost in thought.

“How…,” Rachel paused then began again, reluctant to cause the woman any more stress. “How are the wedding plans?”

Bridget took a deep breath, then exhaled.
“Oh, you know. The usual. Out of control and over-the-top.”

Rachel forced a smile.
“I’m sure that the wedding will be perfect.”

“
For whom? Mom? The Laskys? The Style section of the Post?”

Rachel heard the disappointment and anger in Bridget
‘s voice. She reached out to reassure the young woman, but Bridget jumped to her feet, and began pacing the living room.

“
I keep telling Josh this isn’t what I want. I never dreamed of some sort of Cinderella-type of wedding. Never owned Wedding Day Barbie. Never dressed up for Halloween as a princess. What the hell are we doing here? Who does he think he’s marrying?” Bridget was working herself up to a fever-pitch, ticking off her objections to the wedding of the century.

“
So call it off,” Rachel suggested in a quiet voice.

Bridget stopped in her tracks. She pointed her finger at Rachel, making her case to the jury.
“I can’t do that.”

“
Why not?”

“
Because, because.…” Bridget sputtered.

“
Because what?”

Bridget stopped. Confusion flitted across her face. Her blue eyes were brimming. She whispered,
“I’ve never been a quitter.”

“
Bridget. You don’t get married because you don’t want to be a quitter,” Rachel said gently.

Bridget shook her head.
“You don’t understand.”

The ringing phone startled them both. Rachel scanned the room for her portable and spied it on the end table by the sofa.

“Hello.” She couldn’t resist a smile.

“
It’s Mac,” she whispered to Bridget.

Rachel listened for a few moments, then covered the mouthpiece.
“He said he’s going to your house and he’ll meet you there. Okay?”

Bridget nodded and reached for her coat.

Rachel uncovered the mouthpiece. “That’s fine. She’s leaving now…. Tomorrow?”

Rachel giggled, then cleared her throat, trying for a more mature tone.
“Sure. See you after work.”

She pressed disconnect to say goodbye to Bridget, but the young woman was already out the door and down the front steps.

***

Mac knew the fall from grace in
Washington, D.C. could be steep and swift. Although the tired, shabby office building was located only about 10 blocks from the nation’s Capitol, it was as far removed from the gloried marble halls of power as the McDonald’s on New York Avenue.

It was early, but he was getting a later start than he
‘d planned. After spending a couple of hours the night before listening to Bridget worry aloud about her career, her wedding, and the path of true love, he’d taken a pain pill and almost slept through his 6 A.M. canine alarm clock.

Then it had taken him a half hour of digging to locate the disgraced legislator. The coveted
K Street address, the center of power for Washington lobbyists, turned out to be nothing more than a rented mailbox. But it maintained the façade that Sandler was still a major player in the game. It didn’t take much digging at all, however, to discover the ex-legislator’s game was an old one. He made a reasonable living working as a political consultant of dirty tricks. He specialized in helping shady politicians bundle illegal campaign contributions and knew how to hide funds so they could be used for media attacks, but couldn’t be traced.

The former congressman actually shared ground floor office space with lobbyists for two small trade organizations in a building slated for demolition. Its replacement would be yet another
Washington, D.C. glass and steel structure with annual leases costing more than Sandler made in ten years.

Many of the building
‘s occupants had already moved out. From a few discreet inquiries, Mac learned Thomas Sandler still showed up for work everyday promptly at 8:30 A.M., carrying a cup of coffee purchased from the sidewalk vendor at the corner. There had been no point in trying to make an appointment to see Sandler. The former Congressman had no interest in discussing his long-missing lover and her baby.

Taking a cab down to Sandler
‘s office, Mac decided to rely on Mother Nature to create the opportunity for a confrontation. Sandler had, true to form, gone into his office with his coffee. He emerged fifteen minutes later with a newspaper and headed for the men’s room at the end of the hall. Mac moved into position right outside the lavatory. Ten minutes later, the former Congressman came out of the bathroom, still scanning the sports section of the Post.

Mac stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
“Mr. Congressman, do you have a moment?”

The genial, fake smile of an old politician slipped into place.
“How can I help you?”

“
I’d like to ask you about Brian Crager.”

Genial was replaced by wary and suspicious.

“Who?” Denial, the default response of any disgraced politician.

“
The brother of a young woman who worked for you about 30 years ago.”

Sandler looked around. The hallway was empty.
“Excuse me; I’ve got nothing to say to you.” He started to sidestep around Mac, who again blocked his path.

“
I understand you met with Martha Martinelli the day before she died.”

Mac could tell Sandler wasn
‘t much of a poker player. In the space of seconds, the man’s emotions flitted across his face in rapid succession. Wary and suspicious were replaced by fear, which quickly morphed into defiance. “Who told you that? Edelstein? I thought I was rid of him when he left Dallas. So, what about it? I’ve known Martha since I first came to Washington. She vigorously supported Conservative principles. May she rest in peace.”

So Ken Edelstein was String. Mac kept his face neutral, he
‘d been guessing about a meeting between Sandler and Martinelli, didn’t see the Edelstein thing coming at all. “Wasn’t Martha Martinelli the reason you lost your seat in Congress? Wasn’t she the reason you were under investigation for the disappearance of Theresa Crager? Why would you meet with her after all these years?”

The mood changed.
“Who the hell are you? I’ve a good mind to call the police and report this as harassment!”

Mac offered a polite smile, as genuine as Sandler
‘s threat. The last thing the ex-Congressman wanted was another investigation by the cops.

“
I’m Mac Sullivan. I’ve been hired to investigate the deaths of Brian Crager, Martha Martinelli, and Ken Edelstein.”

“
Edelstein’s dead? Best news I’ve heard in month of Sundays!” Sandler seemed to consider his options. “Who’s your client?”

Mac ignored the question, and posed one of his own.
“Isn’t it true that Martha Martinelli was on your case again? My information is she’d heard the rumors about your role in suppressing the Hispanic vote in the ninth ward run-off election last year. What did Martha know that scared you?”