Dying to Know (26 page)

248

Bear asked, “What else can you tell us about McCorkle’s new

project?”

Irene wiped her eyes and glanced over at the cluttered desk,

then out the window, lost in silence for a long time. I didn’t

blame her—murder was a shocking and horrible thing. After a

few more tears, she cleared her throat and straightened in her

chair.

“I don’t know much. Mr. McCorkle was private about the new

business.”

“You don’t know who the retainer came from?” Angel asked.

“No. That’s all in the computer I’m sure. Oh, wait …”

Jack leaned forward. “Yes? What do you remember, Irene?”

“There was a man—a big man as I recall—he scared me. He

delivered a package to Mr. McCorkle. It was concerning one of

the new accounts. Oh, I can’t recal his name. I’m sorry. I’m just so upset. May I go?”

“Irene,” Angel said, moving beside her. “Please think. That

name is extremely important. Try to remember. The man may

have killed Mr. McCorkle. He may also have killed my husband;

perhaps others, too.”

“What, oh no. Oh my, I didn’t know. Oh, oh … I can’t … the

safe …”

Jack called the uniformed officer from the hall and met him

in the doorway. He gave him instructions in a hushed voice.

When he turned back to us, he frowned and waited for Irene to

calm again.

He said, “We’ll take her home now. One of my officers wil

stay with her for the evening. As soon as she’s able, we’ll get her 249

to help with the inventory and see what we can do with those

computer records from the safe.”

“Yes, of course.” Angel walked Irene to the waiting policeman.

“Irene, I’m so sorry. Thank you for helping us.”

Irene stopped in the doorway and brushed Angel’s cheek with

a shaky hand. “My dear, it’s me who is sorry. I don’t understand

what’s happening, but I wil do everything I can to help you. Ev-

erything. I just need to rest. It’s so, so terrible …”

“Yes it is. And it’s not over yet.”

250

fort y-six

The nineteenth-century railroad safe sat in the corner of

the second floor office. It too was an antique and fit in amongst a wall of old clocks and artwork. It took Jack ten minutes before he was able to combine the numbers Irene gave him with the correct turns left and right. It might have taken another ten if I

hadn’t whispered in his ear.

“Go ahead, Bear,” Jack said, dropping into a tall-back wooden

chair against the wal . “Use gloves; evidence is evidence.”

Bear withdrew stacks of folders, old cigar boxes, and several

jewelry containers of varying sizes. There was even an unlocked,

canvas deposit bag still containing several thousand dol ars in

cash. He stacked everything on the round table in the center of

the room and Jack started an evidence inventory.

Angel sat watching the process unfold.

It took thirty minutes to sort through the contents of the safe.

When Jack was finished, he allowed Angel to sit at the table and

251

examine it. Angel found what we were looking for in a cigar box

buried beneath the first stack of documents.

“Here are the flash drives.”

“Flash drive?” Jack made no pretense about his computer

skil s. “I’ve heard of them, but never quite understood what they

are.”

“There’re three here.” She handed the cigar box to him.

“They’re small USB storage devices that can hold several gigabits

of data.”

“Yeah, USB.” Jack rolled his eyes and jotted notes. “My com-

puter guys will know what to do with them.”

“I wish we arrived an hour sooner,” Bear said, flipping

through several shipping envelopes. “McCorkle may have been

killed to keep him from talking to us.”

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Angel said. “None of this.”

“Murder doesn’t always make sense. Sometimes it just hap-

pens,” Jack said.

Bear added, “Whoever’s behind this isn’t short on bullets.

Maybe ballistics will match Salazar and McCorkle’s killers.

Maybe not. But …” Bear’s eyebrows raised and he handed Angel a

large packaging envelope. The “to” address label was peeled away

leaving a large, odd shaped scar on the orange paper. The return

address was still intact and read, “Byrd Construction & Development Corporation.” It was a Winchester post office box.

“Very interesting.” Angel opened the envelope. “Why keep an

empty envelope in the safe?”

Bear winked. “So the hired help doesn’t know you have it.”

252

Jack stretched and looked at his watch. “Listen, we have no

idea what we’re looking for. Anything or everything could be im-

portant. I’ll get a couple of my squad to go through this in more

detail. I’ll send you a copy of everything.”

“Great, but email it, will you?” Bear asked. “Don’t leave any

messages at the office.”

“Oh?” Jack’s eyebrows rose.

“Long story, Jack. Just email me, okay?”

Angel was studying some photographs and drawings stuffed

in a folder. There were dozens of sketches and snapshots of rings, necklaces, and other pieces of jewelry. She showed the file to

Jack.

“These must be the special projects Irene mentioned. I guess

he used the drawings and photographs to find them. I‘m no ex-

pert, but some of these look pretty valuable.”

“I’m going to chat with Tyler Byrd tomorrow,” Bear said. “I’m

curious about his business with McCorkle. When can I have a

copy of his client list?”

“Soon as my boys get into these flash-things,” Jack said. He

turned toward a uniformed officer in the doorway. “I want this

room processed by morning.”

The officer got on his radio and relayed the command.

Jack’s cell phone rang. He took the call and disappeared into

the hal way.

“Bear, let’s go,” Angel said. “I’ll call André on the way home.

He was at Kel y’s Dig tonight. Maybe he’s got something new.”

“All right.”

253

I was in the doorway listening to Jack’s cal . I figured out what

was happening before he did. “Angel, Captain Sutter is a little

pissed. You guys better scram before she shows—she found out

about McCorkle and is a half-hour out. Jack’s people cal ed her to let her know her detective was involved in another murder.”

Angel gestured to the door, “Bear, Sutter’s on her way here.”

“How do you …” Bear rolled his eyes. “Oh shit, you’re doing

that Tuck-thing again.”

Jack came red-faced into the room. “Thanks, pal. Why didn’t

you tell me you were already on thin ice. You’re captain is hot

and said to keep you here.”

“Sorry, Jack.” Bear gave him a dismissive wave. “It’s along

story. When she arrives, you don’t know when we left.”

“Damn right I don’t. You owe me
big
. Now, get the hell out of here.”

Climbing into Bear’s car, Angel’s cell rang. “Yes? Oh, hello,

Ernie.” She listened. “I can’t discuss that right now.” Ernie was

jabbering on and on until Angel interrupted him. “Ernie, listen.

I’m afraid he’s dead.” She explained the details.

In between sighs and “I can’t believe its,” Ernie asked ten min-

utes of questions. She ended the call with, “The computer records

were stolen but we may have found the backup files. We also found

an empty mailing envelope from Tyler Byrd’s company. Bear is fol-

lowing that up.”

When she bade him goodnight and closed her phone, her

face was tired and drained. “Ernie and McCorkle were close

friends. He’s devastated.”

254

“There’s a lot of that going around,” Bear said. “What did he cal

for, anyway?”

Angel brightened. “André spoke with him. André now has

proof the medical examiner made a huge mistake. He wants to

meet me tomorrow morning at Kel y’s Dig to show us what he’s

found. Ernie’s meeting us there, too.”

“I better join you,” Bear said, taking the highway on-ramp.

“God only knows what’ll happen if I don’t.”

255

fort y-seven

In the morning, we got a late start to meet André at Kel y’s Dig.

Angel was tired—I guess ‘tired’ would be the polite word after

she and Bear emptied two bottles of merlot. Another attempt on

her life and Liam McCorkle’s murder weighed heavily on her. I

can’t blame her for tipping a few.

If given the chance, I’d tip more than a few.

During the night, Angel and Bear took the night off from

playing Agatha Christie. Instead, they bantered on about almost

nothing, seemingly avoiding all discussion of my case or the

events surrounding Liam McCorkle. I stayed close but didn’t par-

ticipate for fear of angering Angel or invading her sudden need

for “privacy.” During the wine and small talk, I studied Bear and

paid careful attention to every ounce of body language. My heart

ached, fearing that Spence might be right—that Bear had a thing

with Angel. Making things worse were Angel’s odd comments of

256

late and the way she had been acting, wel , guilty. So, I sat petting Hercule and gave them the opportunity to make mistakes.

They didn’t and with each passing hour, guilt buried jealousy.

It was before eight when Angel poured her coffee down and I

took a seat across from her. “Angel, I think you need to be careful around Bear. Don’t you?”

“No—just stop.” I’m not sure the ire was my question or the

wine wearing off.

“But, Angel, last night, someone shot at you—again.”

“Tuck, please.” She dumped the last of her coffee in the sink.

“It certainly wasn’t Bear. Besides, you’re back and I’m so con-

fused. Don’t you get it? As much as I miss you … you shouldn’t be

here. I don’t know if I’m glad or not about that. This whole thing is my fault and I don’t know what to do.”

Huh? “How’s this your fault? You keep saying that.”

The answer wasn’t coming any time soon. Our conversation

was over when she locked the front door and put Hercule in the

Explorer. I barely popped into the back seat with him before she

was off.

Something I said?

Twenty minutes later, we passed by Kelly Orchard Farm’s

main house—wel , mansion was more the word—on the way to

the dig site. It was an enormous, early-American antebel um es-

tate. The two-story, white stone house had four tall chimneys

that reminded me of a Georgia plantation house, with stone steps

leading to the front veranda where heavy columns stood guard.

Even the rear servant’s cottage, which was a smal er two-story

257

stone house on the north side of a landscaped courtyard, pre-

sented a stalwart charm that exuded aristocracy.

It was not difficult to understand why Kel y Orchard Farms

was a poster-child for historical preservation.

Angel looked around and checked her watch. “Bear left a

message that he’d be late. We might as wel go on to the dig site.

André and Ernie will be there.”

“Do you still have Bear’s gun?”

“Of course.” She patted her small backpack that was normal y

full of university books and papers. This morning, it hefted a few extra pounds of steel, brass, and lead. “I don’t want anyone getting lucky on the fourth try.”

“Then let’s go.”

We continued down the gravel road through the apple or-

chards a half mile southeast until we saw the huge debris pile that overlooked Kelly’s Dig. But as we approached, it was obvious

something had changed. There was a wide, newly worn patch of

earth where Byrd’s heavy equipment had been parked just days

ago. Now, only one bulldozer and backhoe remained. The debris

pile blocked the gravel road and we couldn’t reach the construc-

tion trailer on the opposite side of Kel y’s Dig. The trailer now sat obscured behind the pile of trees, brush, and earth.

“Someone’s been working again,” she said, jumping out of the

Explorer. “This debris pile is much larger and now it’s blocking

the road. No one should have been working.”

“Most of Byrd’s heavy equipment is gone, too.” Something

was nagging at me again. “Stay here. Let Herc and I check

around.”

258

A green, late model BMW bounced up the road behind us

and the driver waved out the window.

Hercule growled low and bounded out onto the ground.

“Hercule, it’s only Ernie,” Angel said, kneeling to pet him as

Ernie rolled to a stop. “It’s okay, boy, it’s safe.”

“Good morning,” he called. “Where’s André and Bear?”

Angel shrugged. “I haven’t found André yet. Bear had a meet-

ing with Captain Sutter. He’ll be along later.”

“How are you holding up? Last night must have been terrible.

Liam McCorkle was a good man and a good friend. Frankly, I

can’t believe what’s happened. None of it.”

“I know, Ernie. I feel the same way.” When we rounded the far

side of the debris pile, Ernie pointed to a sleek, blue Mercedes

convertible parked with its top down near the road coming from

the highway. “That’s André’s car. Now where is he?”

I added, “Let’s check around. I don’t like this at al .”

“I’ll check the orchard,” Angel said, walking toward the far

end of the debris pile. “Can you check the trailer, Ernie? Maybe

he’s inside.”

“Of course.”

Ernie first went to André’s convertible and looked inside.

Then walked to the trailer and tried the trailer door several times but the door didn’t open. He took out his cell phone and dialed.