Dying to Know (21 page)

seemed upset that you have some antiques from Kelly’s Dig.

What did he mean?”

“Nothing,” he snapped. He looked down and then said in a

lighter voice, “No, I suppose I should tell you—confide in you I

mean.”

I wanted to slug the old drama-queen for all the theatrics.

Something was up Ernie’s skirt and I wanted to know what.

“Confide in me about what?”

“Angela, the truth is I purchased several items on the black

market—over my computer. They came from Kel y’s Dig.”

I watched Ernie’s face redden and his mouth tighten until his

lips were white. “I’m afraid they were stolen from there.”

“Holy shit, Angel, Ernie’s a crook.”

She asked, “What on earth are you talking about?”

“It’s simple. Perhaps too simple.” Ernie cleared his throat and

drained his wine glass. “You see, I trade online and received word from a dealer I know about some rare items for sale. He put me

in touch with an anonymous seller offering rare currency and

numerous Civil War pieces. I purchased all of them.”

Angel cocked her head. “And this person sold you the coins?”

“Yes, about a week before the skeletons were discovered at

Kel y’s Dig. The pieces I purchased came from there. I suspect

that’s why he insisted on anonymity.”

“Did you recognize the person who sold them to you?”

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He shook his head. “No, they were stolen property and al . I

never met the person and did everything via the computer and

the mail.”

Angel contemplated her glass. I knew that look on her face—

she was mental y chasing a theory. She found it somewhere in

the Merlot. “André is onto something big at Kel y’s Dig and he’l

need to see those coins. We need to know if your coins, Sarah’s,

and Poor Nic’s all match the one from André’s clay sample.”

“And if they do?” Ernie looked confused. “What of it?”

“If they do,” she said before sipping her wine, “then they could

be connected to the murders.”

“My dear, please.” Ernie gave a dismissive wave. “Buying and

selling antique coins doesn’t equate to murder.”

“I’m not so sure.”

He asked, “What has André found?”

“He mentioned a discrepancy in the Medical Examiner’s skel-

etal findings. He hasn’t told me the details except that he feels

strongly there are three or four sets of remains—not two.”

“Real y? That might mean …” Ernie jumped to his feet. “An-

gela, stay here. Someone’s outside my window.”

“Oh, no—not again.”

“Someone just walked past.” He went behind his bar and re-

turned with a revolver, checked the cylinder, and swung it closed.

“Wait here, I’ll check outside. Stay away from the windows.” He

bolted into the hal way and disappeared toward the rear of the

house.

“I’ll go with him,” I said, heading for the hal .

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I had not taken two steps when the sound of breaking glass

from somewhere in the rear of the house stopped me. There was

splintering wood, a heavy crash, and more glass shattering. A

shot—Ernie barked “stop” and then another shot.

“Tuck,” Angel cried. “Where are you?”

Before I could answer, the room went black.

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thirt y-five

Angel was standing in the middle of the room fighting panic.

“Easy, Angel, I’m right here. Don’t move.”

“Ernie?” she called. She got no response “Tuck, he could be

hurt. Go see.”

Two more loud crashes came from the rear of the house.

Ernie called, “It’s all right, Angela. I’m trying to get to the electric panel. I’ve scared him away.”

“Hurry,” she called. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, stay where you are.”

After several long, anxious moments, the lights came on.

Ernie limped into the living room holding his head. “It’s all right.

He’s gone.”

“Who’s gone?” Angel helped him to the sofa. “What hap-

pened?”

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“I’m not sure. When I reached the back room, someone was

at the rear door—a man trying to force it in. He smashed in the

door and attacked me.”

Angel found napkins and water on the bar. With slow, gin-

gerly care, she began washing a small contusion just above Ernie’s left ear. Without thinking, she said, “Tuck, go check.”

“Okay—on it.”

“Dear, who are you talking to?” Ernie’s voice was thick with

doubt.

I could not hear her response—but it must have been some-

thing.

At the rear of the house, just past the kitchen, was a sitting

room. A small antique desk stood against one wall and there was

a large round table in the center of the room There were books

and work papers strewn everywhere. The rear door was ajar and

one of its glass panes was shattered. The doorframe and wall cas-

ing were splintered and badly damaged. A broken lamp dangled

off the desk by its cord. Another lamp lay on the floor amid the

broken door glass, along with Ernie’s revolver. Ernie’s re-

volver lay amongst it all in the center of the room.

Not finding any real clues, I went outside.

I searched around the house and the old barn in the rear.

There was no sign of anyone lurking around. I made two patrols

and found nothing. Next, I searched every room in Ernie’s house

but came up empty. Once again, the attacker struck. Once again,

he got away.

I returned to Angel who was still playing nurse. “There’s no

one around. But the back room is a mess.”

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“Oh, my.” Ernie held a wet cloth to his head and lay back on

the sofa. “He hit me harder than I thought.”

“Pretty brazen to break in while we’re here,” Angel said, clos-

ing her phone. “Bear’s on his way.” She touched Ernie’s shoulder.

“You didn’t believe me the morning someone was in your house.

Now you have to.”

“I do.” He blotted his head. “It happened so fast. He crashed

through the door and hit me. My gun went off—it was an acci-

dent. I don’t think I hit anything. The next thing I knew I was on the floor in the dark.”

I said, “The desk lamp’s broken. So is the one near the table.

One of them tripped a breaker.”

“Let’s check your office.” Angel took his arm. “Did you get a

look at him?”

Ernie’s description sent chil s up my spine. “He was tal . Big,

you know, broad-shouldered, and he had dark features.” I was

betting he was the same man who had attacked Angel and Car-

men. I was also betting his name was Lucca.

In the rear sitting room Ernie sat at the table and immediately

pointed to an empty, felt blotter on his desk. “Oh, no. Angela,

they’re all gone. The papers, the letters, even the coins I was

cleaning. Everything from Kel y’s Dig is gone.”

I said, “Typical smash and grab. They knew what they were

looking for and where to find it.”

Angel asked, “Who knew you had these things?”

“Let me think.” Ernie dabbed the side of his head and exam-

ined the bloodied cloth. “Some of my colleagues at the Historical

Society. Of course, Tyler Byrd knows.”

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“Anyone else?”

His eyes lit up. “Yes. When I was discussing them with Byrd—

checking to see if what I’d bought matched anything his work

crew found. Bartalotta was in his office. I always suspected Byrd

had connections to that sort.”

Poor Nic again. What a coincidence. He was the common de-

nominator every time the lights went out.

We heard cars pulling up outside and a moment later, flash-

lights raced through the backyard. Two sheriff’s deputies jogged

around the yard and began a search. Then a voice barked from

the front door and footsteps entered the hal .

“Angela, honey are you okay?” Bear emerged with a pissed-off

expression on his face that he wasn’t trying to hide. “Every time I leave you alone, someone gets beat up, shot at, or worse.”

By “worse,” I assumed he was referring to me.

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thirt y-six

“So, do you think he’s in there?” Angel asked, sipping her coffee

beside Bear in the front seat of his unmarked cruiser. “How long

are we waiting?”

We sat fifty yards from the front door of a rundown, double-

wide trailer parked in a grove of pines around the bend from

where we were sitting. There was a green, two-door coupe tucked

beneath a fiberglass carport in the front yard. The trailer win-

dows were shaded and there were no signs of life. This was the

only home—if that’s what you could call it—for a mile, and the

dusty road ended abruptly out front. We were fifteen miles south

of Winchester in an enclave of trailer parks, decrepit townhouses, and farm country all mixed together like a poster child for community planning. I think all the slumlords in the county chipped

in to build this little
community
.

Bear checked his watch. “It’s near nine a.m. and his car is out

front.”

202

“How’d you find him?”

“Phone trace on Sarah Salazar. She called here two nights ago

and again last night. It’s a rental and the owner says Iggi’s the

only tenant.”

We’d left Ernie’s last night after the crime lab finished—again.

The perp, whoever it was, was batting a thousand—no prints, no

tracks, and no trace. Later at home, Bear and Angel sat in my liv-

ing room draining a pot of coffee and discussing Angel’s meeting

with Sarah Salazar and Ernie’s break-in. After three hours, they

reached two conclusions. First, Winchester never had a crime

wave before, but was having a big one now. Second, Bear was

pissed off, and he said so again.

“Angela, you can’t play detective alone anymore. You’re with

me this morning so I can keep an eye on you.”

“I did find out about Iggi and Salazar, didn’t I? I’m the one

who found out about their other job.”

“Sure, but …”

“And you said we might be able to link Salazar’s murderer to

Tuck’s, right? And that’s good if we do.”

Bear threw up his hands. “Okay, okay. Yes.”

“And I found the coins …”

“No, I found the coins,” I said, but knew I wouldn’t get the

credit.

I didn’t, and decided instead to move our morning along.

“I’m going inside to find Iggi.”

Angel said, “Pull up front, Bear. Iggi’s about to wake up.”

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“Don’t start that again.” Bear took a precautionary glance into

the back seat before he opened the console between the seats and

took out a smal , compact .380 automatic. He handed it to her. “I’m not expecting trouble, but I don’t want you unarmed if there is

any.”

“All right.” Angel took the handgun.

I said, “Angel, give me five minutes, then send him in.” Then I

went in search of Ignacio Suarez.

Iggi lay passed out on a dilapidated sofa amidst a dozen

empty beer cans and the remnants of a pizza. The trailer was

strewn with trash and broken furniture. But that didn’t bother

me; it was the 12-gauge pump shotgun nearby. It lay beneath the

pizza box on the coffee table in front of him.

Iggi was spooked—and he wasn’t taking chances.

The blinds were drawn and the trailer was quiet. A table lamp

beside him dimly lighted the room. The only other light was a

single, dangling light bulb at the far end of the hal above the rear door. That door was locked and a piece of cardboard covered its

window. The other two rooms were stark and empty.

Iggi locked himself alone in a dark, lifeless hiding place. Ei-

ther he was terrified of someone or he was a vampire. Both were

possible. After al , last month I didn’t believe in ghosts.

“Iggi, oh, Iggi … it’s time to wake up.”

I stood in front of the couch watching the snoring man. Iggi

was a short, stout man of about thirty. He had shaggy, black hair, and his face showed scars from a war lost to teenage acne. He

reeked of beer and dirty clothes. He wore soiled blue jeans and a

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dark sweatshirt. His cutoff sleeves revealed powerful arms and

leathery skin from hard labor in all manner of weather. Those

powerful arms also revealed something that startled me. On his

left forearm was a tattoo of a cross with a halo above it.

“So, we meet again, Iggi. Been doing any nighttime digging?”

He didn’t move.

“Well, cell phones give me a little pep—let’s see what else.

does.”

I grabbed the lamp cord beside Iggi and held tight. A surge

bristled through me and exhilarated me. The light flickered and

the bulb flashed out. I let go. The tingling continued inside me

and I was energized—pardon the pun—and euphoric. It took al

my concentration to fight the high trying to get out.

Now I know why some people get hooked on cocaine.

I grabbed the shotgun and hefted it. It felt ful y loaded. This

wouldn’t do.

“Sheriff ’s Department.” Bear was outside pounding on the

front door “Iggi Suarez, come out. Frederick County Sheriff.”

Iggi’s eyes flashed open. When Bear pounded again, he deftly

rolled off the couch and grabbed for the shotgun all in one move-

ment.

Fortunately, he didn’t find it.

Panic contorted his face. He slid his bare feet into old running

shoes beside the couch and glanced around. He saw the shotgun

lying in the chair across the room, took it, and crept to the rear of the trailer.

“Iggi, come out.”

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