Lia Farrell - Mae December 02 - Two Dogs Lie Sleeping (20 page)

O
n August 11th, Sheriff Bradley and Dory stood in the basement of the sheriff’s office building hovering over Captain Paula’s IT expert, Mark Schneider, who was seated in front of the ancient computer. After several abortive conversations the previous day with Terry Arnold the prosecutor—who still insisted that Henry Covington be released—Ben realized he needed specialized help with the old computer. He had to obtain proof of the bribe Covington and probably Townsend had accepted to change the point spread on the old football game. After the requisite begging and groveling, he was given access to Captain Paula’s whiz kid.

Mark Schneider was a skinny, nerdy looking youngster
with spiky black hair and black-rimmed glasses. He reminded Ben of a punk version of Clark Kent, only without the muscles. He had three silver studs sticking out of his left ear, and a tattoo on the back of his neck. The head of a dragon stuck up out of his T-shirt. Mark’s fingers were flying over the computer. The language emerging from his mouth became increasingly more profane until he took a deep breath, turned around, and threw up his hands.

“
My decryption software doesn’t seem to be working on this relic, and I can’t do this with you two watching me,” he frowned. “So unless you can come up with Ryan Gentry’s password, you need to leave.”

“Did you try Sigma Chi?” Ben asked.

“Seriously, dude? It was the first phrase I tried. So, I repeat, unless you can come up with Ryan’s password ….” He looked daggers at them.

Ben and Dory exited the basement.

“Do you think July might have any ideas?” Dory asked as they climbed the stairs. “You told me she visited Tom Ferris often at school before his disappearance. She probably got to know his fraternity brothers pretty well. If so, she might remember something about Ryan and what he might use for a password.”

Ben clapped her on the shoulder, “You’re brilliant. I’ll call and ask her.”

He dialed July’s cellphone on their way up the stairs. “July, it’s Ben,” he said cautiously, knowing he was far from her favorite person at the moment.

“What do you want?”
Sounds like she’s still mad
.

“We think we got the guy who killed Tom Ferris. We’re trying to get into Ryan Gentry’s old computer. We have a forensic IT guy here, but he needs Ryan’s password.
Mae said you used to visit Tom at his college whenever you could, so I thought you might have gotten to know Ryan enough to give us some idea of his likes and dislikes—we’re trying to figure out his password.”

“I don’t really have time for this, Ben. Olivia had a concussion, and Fred and I
have had to keep waking her up. We’re exhausted.”

“Is Livy okay?”

“I think so. It was a booger keeping her awake.” July stifled a yawn. “But her CT scan was fine. She’ll be all right in a few days.”

“That’s good. Can you remember anything about Ryan that might help?” he asked quietly. “Any ideas are welcome. I’ve got to get into that computer.”

“I thought Ryan committed suicide. Didn’t he?” July’s voice sounded calmer and suddenly sad.

“Doesn’t look like it. We think the same guy killed both Ryan and Tom Ferris.”

There was a long silence. At last July said, “Well, then you have to get him. The only thing I remember about Ryan is that he loved
The Hobbit
,
the book by Tolkien. Does that help?”

“You know,” Ben said, “I think it
might.” He said good-bye, trying to remember the names of the Hobbit, the Wizard, the names of all the dwarves and the dragon in that wonderful story. He walked back downstairs murmuring, “Bilbo Baggins, Gandalf, Balin, Dwalin, Fili, Kili, Ori, Nori ….” and told Mark that Ryan’s favorite book was Tolkien’s masterpiece.

“Piece of cake then,” Mark said, grinning. He pulled up his T-shirt in the back and Ben and Dory were greeted by a large fire breathing reptile. “The password’s got to be Smaug.” He typed the dragon’s name into the computer. The screen opened. “Okay, now what are we looking for?”

“We need to see if there are any unusual deposits in November or December prior to the 1998 Bowl Championship game that year. The final game was between Southeast Tennessee and Florida State. We were favored to win and we went down twenty-one to twenty.”

“I’m on it,” Mark said, turning his head and looking pointedly at the stairs.

“And we’re leaving. Thanks, man.”

Half an hour later Mark came upstairs with a flash drive. He stuck it in Dory’s printer. Mark had isolated all the deposits for the Sigma Chi account that year. A typed list with dates spit out of the printer. Most deposits were made in August/September and were payments for room, board, and dues for the inhabitants of the frat house. There were several deposits in October; late payments for room and board. In November, however, there were two deposits of $10,000 each, made on the same day.

“Anything else?” he asked with a
cocky smirk.

“You’re da Man,” Dory told him. Ben shook his hand.

“You puny little crime fighters call me if you need my superhero skills for anything else.” Mark strode out looking supremely self-satisfied.

“You can practically see that boy’s Superman cape.” Dory grinned.

Ben called Wayne, who was still at home recovering.

“How are you feeling?”

“Stiff and sore.”

“It’s going to take a while,” Ben told him. “I called to give you some good news. The IT guy Captain Paula sent over got into the Sigma Chi records and found two ten-thousand dollar deposits the month before Ryan Gentry died.”

No reply from Ben’s detective. He continued.

“I tried to get the financial records from
’99 to see if any more payments were made into that account after Ryan died. The old records, all nice and tidy in boxes labeled by year, were in the basement of the frat house. I got the current fraternity president to go down and check it out. He found everything except the boxes for ’98, ’99 and 2000. Those are missing. I called Mrs. Trula Godfrey and found out that Greg Townsend graciously stepped forward and offered to assume the treasurer role after Ryan died. He conveniently
lost
the records for those years.”

“
If you can’t find the records, do you want to focus on getting Greg Townsend for conspiracy to commit Ryan Gentry’s murder?”

“I looked it up again last night. You can’t get someone for conspiracy after ten years.”

“Damn, guess we’ll have to concentrate on Townsend’s role in the Ferris murder then.” Detective Nichols’ voice was rough with frustration.

“That’s going to be tough. We can’t exactly commandeer a computer from Townsend’s law firm and hack into it to see if Henry Covington got an extra payment from them on or about August second for the Ferris killing.” The sheriff sighed.

“Didn’t we get Henry’s financials from his bank?”

“Of course, but there’s no sign of a big deposit. The payment was probably made in cash. Or Covington has another account under a different name.”

“I think it’s time that you paid Mr. Townsend an unofficial visit, boss,” Wayne said. “I’ll follow up with the other two players, but my gut feeling is that they won’t have anything else to add. I’m thinking you need to put pressure on Greg Townsend and try to scare him into giving something away.”

“You read my mind, buddy. One thing’s still bothering me, though. That second man in the car with Covington when we all went up to Pinhook, the guy who escaped? You said he was searching the cabin. What do you think he was looking for?”

“If Greg Townsend paid Covington in cash for the hit on Ferris, maybe the money was hidden in the cabin. I don’t think he found it, though. He was looking pretty frustrated before he heard me under the window and we had our little scuffle.”

“When do you think you’ll be back in the office?”

“I’ll be in later.” He hesitated. “Ben, something’s happened in my personal life and I’m going to need a leave of absence for six months to take care of business.”

Ben was stunned. He didn’t know his detective even had a personal life. “Is it because of the gunshot wounds?” he asked, a stab of remorse hitting his gut.

“Hell no, it’s something else. I’m going to stay on board until this case is tied up. Don’t worry about that.”

The sheriff drank the last of his cold coffee, knowing he was drinking too much of
the stuff lately. He ran a jerky hand through his hair and pinched the skin at his throat. “We’ll talk when you get here,” he said.

A
fter talking to the sheriff about Ryan, July put her phone down. She’d slept soundly for the first time since Olivia’s concussion and was back to feeling somewhat human.
Time to give Fred a break.
She went into their master bath. It was huge, with a marble tile floor, a tub with curved legs standing in front of a frosted glass window, a separate shower, and two raised marble sinks. A sparkly chandelier dangled from the ceiling, casting prisms of light around the opulent room. She gave her hair a quick comb, brushed her teeth, and hurried out to the kitchen.

Fred was nowhere to be seen. She filled a plastic pitcher with water and went out her back door to check on the dogs. Soot was sleeping in his favorite spot
—on a patch of creeping jenny under the bird-feeder. Ricky, who Mae had originally named Eric the Red, was on top of the stone retaining wall that delineated the back boundary of the lush landscape. The pup tilted his head when he saw her, jumped down and ran over. She set the water pitcher down and picked him up.

“I missed you, Ricky.” She kissed him on the top of his reddish-gold head and stood there holding him for a minute. Soot uncurled his small black body and stretched in the sunshine. She put the pup down, filled the water bowl on the top step and called him over. She made much of Soot, too, petting him and talking to both of the
porgis. The sun was warm on her back. The landscapers must have come recently, because the air smelled of freshly cut grass. It was good to be home.

With both dogs at her heels,
July took the empty pitcher back inside. She scooped dry dog food out of the bin, watched them eat, and then scooted Soot and Ricky back outside. At the sound of Olivia laughing in the den, she smiled. Fred had to be back there with her. Her daughter must be feeling better. She hoped her headache was gone.

A towering stack of mail and newspapers caught her eye. July went over and began to sort through the accumulation.
Bills, magazines, and catalogs, the usual. When her sister walked into the kitchen, she gave July a strange look.

“Hi Mae, didn’t know you were here.”

“Yeah, I was here yesterday too, but you were asleep. I just arrived—brought the puppy over to cheer Livy up. And I wanted to make sure you saw this; it looks important.” Mae took a thick envelope out of the pile. Her name was written on it—her maiden name. Three initials stood in place of the return address. July froze. She recognized the handwriting; it was Tommy’s. With shaking hands, she tore it open, unfolded it, and began to read.

July stood at the counter with tears rolling down her face.
Finally she looked at Mae and smiled, wet cheeks shining.

“He
did
write me a letter, like he said.” She waved two pieces of stationary at Mae. “God, he must have mailed this on the day he died.”

“It’s from Tommy?” Mae asked. “What does it say?”

July looked around. “Is Fred with Livy?”

“Yes,
” Mae said, “they’re playing with the puppy. It seems like Livy’s feeling better today. He’s got her laughing back there.”

“Good. Let’s go outside and sit on the patio. You can help me figure out what to do.”

“Do you want me to read it, July?” Mae asked.

July bit her lip. “There’re some parts that are very
 … private. And his handwriting was atrocious. I’ll just read two sections to you.” She unfolded the letter and laid the first page face down on the glass-topped patio table.

“The first page is the personal part. He says how much he always loved me,” July started to cry, “and then he says I needed to understand why he left. He figured out that his old roommate Ryan Gentry was killed because he knew that Henry and Greg were up to something involving a lot of money. He says he was afraid
that if he talked or stuck around, I’d be in danger. If he broke off contact with me, then they would assume I knew nothing.”

Mae gasped. “That’s why he disappeared! He was protecting you.”

July nodded. “There’s a couple of words that I can’t decipher here, see? Right after Greg’s name.” She showed Mae the handwritten sheet.

“I can’t tell what that says
, either,” Mae told her, after she looked at it. “I think it’s a name or maybe a title. Never mind.”

July cleared her throat. Flipping to the third sheet of paper, she started reading
:

Bethany Cooper convinced me that Wade Rawlins was her father. She told me he signed a Declaration of Paternity form. There are a few places in the house where documents could be hidden: the attic above my old room, the safe in Wade’s study, or the compartment under his desk chair. You remember, July, I told you about Wade showing me the secret compartment under the chair seat.

I’m writing this letter to you sitting in my car outside of the
mansion. I saw Henry when I walked into Evangeline’s office, and I know he saw me. It’s time for me to stop running away. I don’t have long to live, sweetheart, about another six months. I have cancer. Henry is going to come after me; I know that. I’m going to the police after I look for the Declaration of Paternity. This time I’m not running. Once Henry is in custody, I know you will be safe.

July was crying so hard by then, Mae could hardly understand her.

“
He said if he didn’t have a chance to find those papers, he needed me to look for them. For Bethany’s sake. His last words were that he would always love me.” July’s tears were falling on the letter.

“How was he able to mail it before he went into the house?” Mae said.

“There’s a postbox right there,” July answered. “I guess he had planned to send me the letter all along, because he was prepared with stationery and a stamp.”

Mae looked at her sister with compassion. “He couldn’t run forever, July. He did a very brave thing. He came home. So we need to finish this for him, don’t we?”

The glass-topped wrought-iron table where they sat was shaded by a huge oak tree. Ricky was curled in Mae’s lap, and Soot was draped across July’s feet. July pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her nose. They heard noises inside the house and the voices of their parents.

“We better go in, July,” Mae said. “But we have to get to the
mansion as soon as possible, and we need to give this letter to Ben.”

Her sister nodded. “Put it in your purse. I’ll check with Miranda, but we’ll probably need to wait until after hours. The
y finally opened the mansion officially yesterday, and tours are going on every day right now from ten to five.”