Rollover (20 page)

Chapter Seventeen

“Are you saying we might have an entire day to ourselves?” Elaine looked elated.

“Looks like it. What do you want to do?”

“What if I wanted to go into Santa Fe and look at rings? I remember saying ‘I do' the other night.”

“Perfect choice. Lunch, maybe a movie—” And then his cell rang.

“Sheriff Howard. Yeah, we'll be here. Not a problem.” He turned the phone off and slipped it back in his pocket. He didn't have to say anything. Elaine moved to hug him.

“It's okay. We'll have plenty of time to shop. I'm going to take Simon for a walk. The sheriff didn't say he wanted to see me?”

“Didn't say what he wanted.”

“I won't be long.” Elaine clipped the leash in place and was almost knocked down by an exuberant Simon who was completing a circle of half jumps. “We need to give you more attention.” She made him sit before opening the door.

Dan watched the two of them move across the lawn scattering leaves before stepping off the curb and heading down the street. Elaine not even limping with Simon glued to her side. That was one resilient lady. Funny, but moments like this were what made being alive pretty worthwhile. He leaned against the railing breathing in the crisp fall air and only went inside when they were finally out of sight.

Dan heard the sheriff on the stairs and turned and held the door open before he had a chance to knock. That was quick. Dan hoped this was a positive visit.

“Thanks. Did I catch you at a bad time?” Dan shook his head and moved back as the sheriff stepped inside, walked around the corner of the bed and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table.

This didn't look like a short visit or a happy one. The sheriff hadn't cracked a smile. “Get you something?”

“No, on duty…that is, if you were about to offer a beer—which sounds pretty good about now.”

“Fresh out. Iced tea?” The sheriff looked tired. Had he always had that furrow etched between his eyes?

“That'll work.”

The sheriff waited until Dan had placed two glasses on the table, then he leaned back and stared at Dan full on. Dan knew enough not to flinch or say anything but he was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

“What made you think there might have been something in those unused safe deposit boxes at the bank?” The sheriff's stare was so intense Dan could feel it.

He cleared his throat, “A hunch. Nothing else added up. By reason of elimination, no one lost anything. That is, nothing was stolen due to a robbery but there was a painstakingly complete tunnel that said something made that kind of work important, maybe even necessary. Guess I've been toying with the idea that it could have been a drop for something. Drugs, maybe. We still don't know how long the tunnel was operable. We just know they chose safe deposit boxes over a couple million plus in currency.”

The sheriff broke eye contact and rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers.

“You were right. But I wish to hell you hadn't been. I lost a good kid—a promising kid. Twenty-three years old, just graduated from college and all he wanted to do was get into law enforcement. Been a deputy just six months.”

Dan waited while the sheriff took a long swallow of tea and moved a napkin to soak up the ring the sweaty glass had left. “Now he's dead. And there wasn't one damn thing I could have done to stop it because I just plain never suspected.”

Dan was lost. Had the kid been in a car accident? He hadn't heard of any but what did this death have to do with the unopened boxes?

“You've lost me.”

“I sent him in there to dust for prints and vacuum the insides of the boxes—the ones, as you pointed out, that hadn't been opened. The robbery was an innocuous chore, a thankless one because I believed it was going to be a dead end, and it took his life. He went to Urgent Care three days later but they sent him home. Said he had the flu. His pregnant wife rushed him to the hospital yesterday morning and now he's gone. In six days. Gone.”

Again, Dan waited. None of this was making sense. How or why were flu symptoms connected to the bank?

“You know what he had? What killed him just inside a week? What some sick, son of a bitch kept in those locked, unmarked boxes? Ricin.

Yeah, you heard me. Ricin. This kid breathed enough of the stuff he vacuumed up to contract ricin poison by inhalation. He never had a chance. You inhale the stuff and you're a goner, check out within days. A little on the skin and you have a fighting chance.” The sheriff leaned forward elbows on the table. “I gave the order to use the vacuum. I sent that poor unsuspecting kid in there to check the boxes.”

Dan sat back. Didn't this just about make the whole thing a brand new ball game? Who would keep ricin in a safe deposit box?

“I gotta quit hiding behind thinking that this is a sleepy little western town. I've lived in this area all my life. We don't have terrorists, or murderers on the loose. Worst we ever get up here is discovering a pot farm in the national forest or somebody's ninety-year-old grandfather dies of exposure bringing his sheep in in a snowstorm.”

Dan was pretty much speechless. Another death. He was feeling a part of the sheriff's guilt—it had been his idea.

“Just a heads-up. The FBI Joint Terrorism Task Force and U.S. Department of Homeland Security are involved now. I don't know who has first dibs on you, but you'll be hearing from somebody. In the meantime I gotta help plan a funeral.”

The sheriff stood, dumped the rest of his tea in the sink, and let himself out.

Chapter Eighteen

“Terrorism? Terrorists in Wagon Mound, New Mexico?”

“I think the Feds have to allow for anything. Ricin has been a terrorists' tool before. Doesn't mean it was one now. And just for the record, I don't remember the Unabomber living in a thriving metropolis.”

“So, who do we know who fits a Unabomber description?” Elaine handed him a second cup of coffee and joined him at the table.

“I think we can rule out Gert.”

“Dan, be serious.”

“I am, sort of. But by virtue of the necklace, Gert's in the lineup. Personally, I think we can rule out Gert's involvement with anything that's happened—especially anything with the necklace. I've narrowed suspicions to Penny or the bank president or Penny
and
the bank president.”

“And your best guess?”

“Toss up at this time. Might not be too difficult to prove motive, though.”

“For?”

“Penny. A fifty-something spinster seeing her inheritance within reach with only a very robust mother in the way. And if you knew that whatever was taken would be replaced by the insurance company…Well, you wouldn't really be hurting mom but more like helping yourself to what was already yours. And a bank robbery conveniently covered everything up. Of course, finding the necklace was a little risky. She obviously didn't know I'd have it appraised.”

But ricin? Dan could understand Elaine's problem with credibility. It just seemed so farfetched. Keeping a toxic weapon in a bank vault in Wagon Mound, New Mexico, made the questions of who did what to the necklace absolutely pale in comparison. Whatever was going on was a lot bigger than an insurance claim.

And the Feds seemed to agree; they didn't waste time calling. He was commanded to meet them at the bank at nine sharp in the morning. Bring credentials, any notes, or photos, and be prepared to spend half a day. If he'd thought things were starting to fall into place, he'd been dead wrong.

***

The bank was positively bustling. A number of people, probably all locals, were wandering in and out. Dan guessed more from curiosity than any need to do business. The bank was open but chaos looked to be in control. Plain clothed guards seemed to occupy every corner including the front sidewalk. Dark glasses, dark suits, phones in their ears. It reminded him that the problem at hand was not simple burglary. The death of three people made it a lot more than that—was the death of old Chet number four?

Stephanie glanced up and gave him a quick smile over a stack of folders before Alice whisked him back to the prez's old office. This time the room was without clutter and boxes with a couple half-way comfy couches. Looked like the Feds could command a touch of luxury. Ditch the Quaker austerity and add some overstuffed. It didn't mean they were any more punctual. He glanced at his watch. A quarter after.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” The man who stepped inside the room was more than a little overdressed for Wagon Mound. Some unknown salute to the recently departed but impeccably dressed former bank president? Dan doubted it but the crisp, pin-stripe shirt, and navy merino wool suit with power tie in red…pretty dressed up for this community. But the damnable thing was the man looked familiar. Dan knew he was staring but just couldn't quite place the face. Unless…

“Yes, we've met before. If you could call it that.”

“At Jeeter's place—the chop shop. Didn't recognize you without the bandana and mustache.” Dan recalled the man who had stuck his head in the door but was now totally transformed into a Federal mucky-muck. Things were getting more interesting.

“You got it. Sorry I didn't stop to introduce myself at the time. I actually am Will Ferris, Jeeter's brother. Gives me first dibs on jobs out this way.”

Dan couldn't be sure but he thought that was meant to be funny. Sarcastic, maybe? He offered a half-smile, “Good camouflage.”

“Yeah, works for this job anyway.”

Will took the chair behind the desk and motioned to one in front. “Coffee? Anything before we start?”

Dan shook his head and watched as Agent Ferris opened a manila folder.

“I need to ask some routine questions first—results of your investigation involving the item insured by United Life & Casualty. Where that investigation stands at present.” He looked directly at Dan and smiled. “I'm not going to remind you that anything you say could be held against you. You know that.”

“Am I under suspicion?”

“Of course not. Just a precaution until we cross the t's and dot the i's. I need to know what you know. You may think you have reason to be personally involved with finding the person or persons behind certain recent activities. The abduction of your fiancée, the rollover…am I making myself clear? This is federal territory now. I would remind you to stick with why you're here. Respect boundaries. There's some indication that that's difficult for you to do.” A slight downward nod of the head toward the open folder. Then a stern countenance and stare, hands clasped.

They had a file on him. Dating from when? Probably longer back than he cared to know or cared for them to have. Fifty-two years of age and Dan felt like someone had just popped his knuckles with a ruler. Well, two could play this game. It was obvious there would be no give and take—what's mine stays mine mentality was at work here. And that was just fine with Dan.

“Where do you want me to start?” Two could play this game, and Agent Ferris wouldn't get anything that wasn't public knowledge. Not unless he wanted to share.

“Let's start at the beginning, Mr. Mahoney…your trip to Wagon Mound and why.”

The recorder was switched on and Agent Ferris leaned back in his chair. Yeah, this was going to be a long one, Dan thought. In fact it was a little before one when Dan finally left the bank. And didn't leave anything behind he hadn't wanted to. Just facts. He'd reiterated the saga of the necklace stopping short of sharing the pilfering of diamonds and possible fencing operation headed up by a disgruntled daughter and the local banker. Because, of course, that last was just conjecture and he needed to find out for himself. And soon.

Nothing was mentioned about ricin, or empty safe deposit boxes or the death caused by cleaning one of them—and he didn't ask questions. He didn't even stay around to chit-chat with Stephanie, even though he sensed she would welcome a break. He was feeling more than a little claustrophobic and fresh air was a welcome change to the stuffy confines he'd sat in for over three hours. And he didn't rule out it was tough to look at that chandelier and not see a body. He felt for Stephanie.

“I'd like to talk with Penny, without Gert.” He hadn't meant to just open the apartment door and blurt it out, but he was feeling some urgency. And he hadn't heard that the sheriff had followed up, talked with either Gert or Penny or both. Of course, now he might know why.

“Well, hello to you, too. Can I tag along? We can eat these in the car.” Elaine pointed to a plate of sandwiches.

“Sure. Wouldn't have it any other way. I expect Penny may still be cataloging seed shipments. And I wouldn't mind another visit to the ranch. In fact, let's take a chance that she's there and just drive out.”

***

They were not only in luck—there was the Jag—but right beside it was the sheriff's county-issue SUV. Dan allowed himself a “hot damn.” Maybe, just maybe there would be some answers. Finally. He grabbed his briefcase and headed for the front steps.

Penny opened the door and quickly covered her surprise with a short, self-conscious laugh, and some comment about hoping Elaine was feeling back to normal. But Dan had to ask if they could come in. It didn't seem to be a popular idea. Then Sheriff Howard stepped into the hallway, uniform awkwardly unbuttoned one extra button at the neck, no t-shirt, and lacking the obligatory regulation necktie. Could it be that they'd just interrupted something? A little shifting of eyes, nervous patting of her skirt and a tug on her pullover sweater. Without it being spelled out, Dan knew the two of them had been making out. Making out? Is that what you called it over fifty? Or sixty-plus if referring to the good sheriff. Dan was only ten years or so behind and, yeah, making out worked.

“The Professor isn't here right now. He had to run into Santa Fe.” Penny paused. “Can I take a message?” Still no one had moved—just a tight-knit tableau in the hall blocking the entrance to the living room.

“I'm not here to see Buster. I'd like to take a few minutes of your time.”

“May I ask what this is about?” Penny's hand fluttered up to her neck.

“I have a few questions concerning the necklace. They're not ones your mother can answer.”

“Oh, I see.” She didn't invite them in but just moved back out of the door, then turned and walked toward the kitchen. “We can talk in here. Is there anything I can get you? I've just made a pot of tea.”

Dan and Elaine shook their heads. Still nothing from the sheriff as he brought up the rear. His shirt now buttoned correctly. Everyone took a chair. Dan waited until Penny had poured a cup of tea. If shaking hands were any hint, she was not looking forward to the discussion. There wasn't an indication one way or another that she'd talked with her mother. He imagined it would be more than a little difficult for Gert to confront her daughter—possibly it hadn't been done. So, now it was up to him. He took a deep breath.

“Let me just lay it out. Facts and supposition, and you can help me with that second part.”

Penny nodded and seemed to be shrinking in her chair, eyes big, face the color of chalk.

“Here's what I have,” Dan paused. “Before I start, I need to record this conversation.” He reached into his briefcase and pulled out the recorder and placed it in the middle of the round dining room table and pressed On.

“Oh, I don't know…I'm really not comfortable…” Penny glanced at the sheriff who must have given her some sign because she just gave a little shrug and clasped both hands in front of her. Resigned, Dan thought. He hoped he'd finally get the truth.

He cleared his throat. “UL&C has a policy that when an insured item has not been in the insurer's possession for any length of time be it one hour, one day or longer, that item must be reappraised. I've taken the liberty of having Ortega's in Santa Fe perform the appraisal and submit their findings in writing.” Dan removed a binder from his briefcase. He inched it toward Penny. “To save us some time, let me summarize. Approximately three hundred thousand dollars of diamonds have been removed from your mother's necklace and sold. Monies from these transactions briefly found their way into your bank account before being sent to the Caymans—to another bank account in your name.”

Dan paused but there was no comment from Penny. He did note the look of surprise on the sheriff's face. “And what was probably a handler's fee of some sort—ten thousand appeared siphoned off for Lawrence Woods up front. Mr. Woods was the go-between, the person representing Gertrude Kennedy—only Ms. Kennedy never authorized such representation. The signature on the letter requesting the sales had been forged. It would appear that you and Mr. Woods were milking a cash cow for your own benefits.” The barely audible sound of sucking in air made Dan glance quickly at Penny, but the sound had come from the sheriff.

“You said you had nothing to do with these shenanigans—that it was all Lawrence Woods' doing—”

“I did it for you.” Penny pushed back her chair and stood, grasping the edge of the table with one hand and pointing at the sheriff with the other. “All for you. I knew we would never have a life together being so much in debt. We would have been saddled with over a hundred thousand in medical bills. Dear dead Emma. How could we have gotten out from under that? And what were you going to do about it? Nothing. You were just content to keep on working, keep on living in this god-forsaken town—”

“You're blaming me for embezzling? And from your mother? No wonder I looked good all of a sudden—you needed a cover-up.” The sheriff stood abruptly catching the edge of the table on his holster sending the pot of tea sloshing over Penny's hand. “I'm a law-abiding citizen—a man who's served his community, worked toward a better good—”

“Oh, really? Everything you touch turns to shit. Look what you've done.” Because of the scalding tea? Not entirely, Dan thought. Penny was holding her hand and crying, then seemed to fold into the chair.

Elaine quickly scooped up towels from the kitchen and filled a bag with ice. “Here, this will make it feel better.”

Penny unbuttoned her cuff and pushing the material back held the ice pack in place. But not before Elaine had seen the tattoo—the stem of a four-leaf clover. Not a tree trunk, a stem. And this put Ms. Kennedy in the cooler putting an ice pack on
her.

Deftly Elaine wrapped a towel around Penny's arm tucking the ends under on each side. She hoped her hands weren't shaking because something told her that she needed to be careful with this information. She couldn't just accuse—pain, blindfolded, a lack of sleep and food…who would believe her? Could she believe herself? She hadn't even remembered the tattoo until now. In trying to move on and not dwell on what happened that night, she'd repressed an important clue. But what did it mean? Who was the other person in the cooler? Not Sheriff Howard, she was certain of that. She quickly glanced across the table. The man was livid, jaw clenched, red splotches of color dotting his neck. They'd be lucky if he didn't have a stroke. No, she'd bet her life that he had no idea what his girlfriend had done.

Penny seemed not to notice Elaine taking any extra time with the ice pack but continued to sob. “Don't you see? This is my inheritance. Mother wouldn't have been cheated. She would have gotten full value. We could have gone away, bought a boat—”