Ghost Wanted (24 page)

“The point now is to get a new video.” The less he knew, the better. I don't know if my actions constituted breaking and entering, but the result was the same. “Friday night the woman in black came through the hall door. She held a pencil flash.” I waggled the flash in my hand. “She crossed to the table.” I aimed the light at the table. “In the dean's office, you got shots of her in the area between the hall wall and the counter. I want you to get pictures of me walking toward the table in here and doctor the video to make it look like it's a video of her in here.”

“You want me to Photoshop the video of her and make it look like it was taken in here?”

“Exactly. I'll walk across the room, and when I get to the table, I'll hold the flash to look in the box that holds Susannah Fairlee's papers.”

“Yeah. That'll work.” He did several takes.

When he was done, I studied the table. The wood was smooth. I needed a protrusion, a splinter, something sharp.

“Oh, hey, Joe. Film me again at the box.” I lifted the lid. The night Ben was shot, Eleanor's arm had caught for an instant on the edge of the lifted lid. I leaned near the box, then swung around to face the door as Eleanor had when Ben turned on the light. The right sleeve of the turtleneck snagged on the corrugated edge of the box lid, leaving behind a long black thread.

The truck stop on the outskirts of Adelaide was the sort of place where strangers occasioned no notice. I wore a denim jacket, gray trousers, and black ankle boots. I felt I'd earned a late evening cheeseburger and fries after taking my time getting in and out of Eleanor's house without arousing her. It had taken patience, but I had been determined that no vagrant noise would alert her. I put the clothing in the hamper and left the stocking cap, gloves, and pencil flash on the side table in the entryway. In the morning, there would be no evidence her home had been entered.

I enjoyed each bite of the cheeseburger. I took a last swallow of good black coffee. I imagined lights burned at Old Ethel as Joe finished his assignment.

I walked outside as if going to a car, made sure I was unobserved, disappeared. Back inside the building, I found a small office that likely was used by the manager. I used the telephone to call Crime Stoppers. Bobby Mac always described my voice as Lauren Bacall with a touch of June Allyson.
Eleanor Sheridan shot Ben Douglas. She's hidden the murder weapon behind books in the second shelf of the bookcase in her office. Look for a flash drive in a small manila envelope in her center desk drawer
.
Blackmail material is contained in the flash drive.
I hung up. I had yet to install the murder weapon, but as soon as it was daylight, I would retrieve the gun and deposit it in her office. Until then, I was off duty. Had I forgotten anything? I hoped not.

I found an empty room in a nearby motel rather than returning to Rose Bower. I settled in for a quick nap after setting the radio alarm for five. I appeared long enough to wash my face and put on fresh makeup. I returned to the truck stop for breakfast. I was ready for a full day when pink tinged the eastern horizon.

It was the half light between dawn and daylight when I reached the abandoned train trestle near the cement plant. Dark columns of smoke rose from two massive chimneys. Rusted steel girders were still shadowy. I moved to the middle of the bridge. I felt behind a girder, continued to search until my fingers touched the ridged butt of the gun Eleanor Sheridan carried when she shot Ben Douglas.

I truly felt buoyant when I stood in Eleanor's office, pulled some books out of the shelf behind her desk, and carefully nestled the weapon there.

I turned on the lights in Chief Cobb's office, settled behind his desk, checked his Outlook Express in-box. I found, as I'd expected, an e-mail from the
Bugle
with an attachment.

To: Chief Cobb
From: Joe Cooper, Editor of the
Bugle
Subject: Anonymous video

Chief Cobb, an anonymous source left a flash drive on my desk in an envelope marked:
Urgent—Send to Adelaide Police Chief Sam Cobb re murder of Goddard Library night watchman Ben Douglas.
I have not looked at the video—

I understood this was an artful statement. Joe could quite honestly say he hadn't looked at the video since he finished editing it and therefore his claim was accurate as far as it went.

—and cannot vouch for its contents.

I grinned. Joe was uncomfortable with Photoshopping.

A note inside the envelope contained this message:
Video depicts intruder in room 211 at Goddard Library immediately prior to arrival of night watchman Ben Douglas
. There was no signature. The video is attached to this e-mail. The envelope and the flash drive are here in my office. I will be happy to bring the envelope and the flash drive to the police station if you wish. The
Bugle
stands ready to assist the police in any way in its investigation to discover the murderer of Ben Douglas.

Best Regards,
Joe Cooper
Editor

“Pretty interesting video.” The deep voice was behind me.

I looked over my shoulder.

Sam Cobb stood next to the old leather couch near the front windows. He was much as I remembered: six feet tall, burly build, broad face beneath grizzled black hair. He was unshaven and his hair was untidily sprigged, but his dark eyes were alert. A slight smile pulled at his lips. “Figured you were here when I heard my chair squeak.” He stood in his stocking feet, arms akimbo. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Not the first night I've sacked out on the couch. Got here about three a.m. I told Claire we had to get back—a big case—and she got us packed in twenty minutes. We picked up some fish tacos and Dr Peppers on the way out of town. Takes about eight hours to drive up from Galveston. Dropped Claire off at home. Figured I better get over here. Picked up an interesting call to Crime Stoppers. Anonymous tip called in from the truck stop out on Highway Nineteen. Enough substance to get some search warrants. Been looking at all the e-mails to and from the acting chief. Unusual. And the files. Smith and Weitz have done a good job. APB for Michelle Hoyt so far unsuccessful. Haven't canceled it yet. The mayor has a scanner. Better not to rile her up. I figure the girl will keep out of the way.”

His voice was dry. “Almost spooky how she's nowhere to be found.” His broad mouth quirked in a grin. He lifted his arms above his head in a waking bear stretch. “Couple hours of sleep. Ready to line things up. Got a bunch of pictures out of the file from the crime scene when Douglas was shot. The box on the table in the
Bugle
video looks like the box in room 211. The lab can verify that. No proof the figure in black shot Douglas, but it puts her on the scene of the crime late at night.”

“Chief, I am so glad to see you.”

“Wish I could say the same.” His mouth again quirked.

I was shocked for an instant, then understood. I laughed. “I would appear, but—”

“You're on good ghostly behavior?”

“The best I can manage.”

That brought forth a deep chuckle. Then he was serious. “Fill me in. I gather there's lots for me to do.”

“There is.” I, too, was serious now. I talked fast, describing Susannah Fairlee and the terminally ill girl she visited.

Sam's big face creased in sympathy. “Always thought it'd be damn hard to die all alone. That poor kid. So you found a letter from her at the Fairlee house?”

“The letter from JoLee Jamison arrived the day Susannah was murdered. The letter was in Susannah's purse. It's still there.”

“I'll see that it's taken into custody.” He frowned. “Too bad the girl didn't use Sheridan's name. A defense attorney will say the girl was dying, probably confused. The letter offers no proof that Sheridan was involved.”

“JoLee didn't need to tell Susannah. Susannah already knew from their visits.”

Sam jammed his hands in the pockets of his baggy shorts. “You figure Susannah got the letter and went straight to Sheridan?”

“Exactly. A friend of Susannah's saw her leave the Administration Building that day. She will testify that Susannah was obviously upset and angry. I think Susannah confronted Sheridan. Maybe she demanded that Sheridan resign. Susannah probably didn't want to hurt the people who'd been set up by Sheridan, even if she'd had a way to find them. Maybe she saw her best hope was to threaten to take the letter to the college president, tell him. JoLee had made it clear to Susannah that she hated Sheridan. Susannah didn't know why until she received the letter that told about the blackmail scheme. Susannah may have said she'd remain quiet if Sheridan agreed to write out a confession, give it to Susannah, and quit her job. Sheridan likely decided then that Susannah had to die. Maybe Sheridan asked for twenty-four hours to think about it. Maybe she said she'd write the confession, mail it to Susannah, and offer her resignation the next day. Something—anything—to keep Susannah quiet until that night.”

Sam nodded. “I saw in the reports that a back-alley neighbor saw someone on a bicycle. We'll talk to him again. Maybe he'll remember something else about the rider.”

“Sam, have you had much rain the last few weeks?”

Sam looked bewildered. As well he might. “You know Oklahoma. Rained off and on all summer. Only a couple of days of rain since then.”

I rushed on. “Sheridan has a bike. I saw her on it last night. It isn't quite a month ago that Susannah was killed. Check for tire tracks in the alley and in the Fairlee backyard. Maybe there will be some trace.”

“We'll look. Be better to have the neighbor in to take a look after we get her in custody. He said the rider was a woman. Maybe he saw enough to be able to identify her.” He strode to his desk, then stopped and cautiously reached down to make sure the chair was empty, though of course no one was visible in the seat. I had already moved. Reassured, he dropped heavily into the swivel chair. Face puckered in thought, he sent off a series of short e-mails, then picked up the phone, punched a number. He moved the chair until he could stretch his legs out comfortably. “Yo, Teddy.” He glanced toward the clock on his desk. It read a few minutes after six. “Hope I didn't get you up.” He reached out, punched Speaker.

“—already run five miles. Got to get you out for some PT, Sam. Hey, how come you're calling from your office? Thought you were out of town this week.”

“Got a murder to solve. That night watchman shot out at Goddard didn't make it. A slug in his chest Friday night. I need a couple of search warrants. Can I meet you at the courthouse in an hour?”

“Sure. Sallie Mae'll already be there. She takes off at three to pick her grandkids up. You got probable cause?”

“Anonymous tip but credible, a video that shows there may be some fibers at the crime scene, and if we match them up with clothes from the suspect's home, we'll have something. At the home we're on the lookout for a black stocking cap, black top and slacks, black gloves. At the office, we're looking for a flash drive that contains blackmail material and the Douglas murder weapon. Need warrants for the home of Eleanor Sheridan, Goddard dean of students, and her office.”

“The dean of students?” Teddy's voice had lost its easy air of camaraderie.

“That's the tip.”

A deep breath. “Mayor Lumpkin will have my ass if you're wrong.”

The answer was quick and firm. “I'm not wrong.”

Bless Sam. He was coming on strong because he trusted me. It wouldn't only be the judge's ass if the evidence didn't jibe. Mayor Lumpkin would trash Sam quicker than a skunk can stink.

There was silence on the line. Saving Michelle now depended upon an elected judge who was likely a political animal, quick to avoid danger. The search warrants would make all the difference.

Finally: “This will be a pretty big deal, Sam. Meet me in my chambers. Twenty minutes. I want to know exactly what I'm dealing with.”

The line clicked off.