Authors: Donna Andrews
“A subpoena,” the chief said. “FPF is subpoenaing me to give a deposition.”
“About what?” Randall looked puzzled, as if not sure what the fuss was all about. For that matter, I didn’t understand myself. Subpoenas, briefs, and depositions had become a fact of life in Caerphilly ever since the legal battle with the Evil Lender had begun.
“Technically, in the matter of Caerphilly County vs. the First Progressive Financial, LLC, which if memory serves is our countersuit claiming that FPF are the trespassers, not Mr. Throckmorton. But it’s obvious what they really want to do.”
Not, apparently, to anyone else in the room. We all looked at him with puzzled looks. Then I suddenly realized what he meant.
“You mean it’s an excuse to put you under oath and ask you what you know about Mr. Throckmorton’s siege. Because they know you won’t lie about it under oath.”
The chief nodded.
“Can they do that?” Randall asked.
“They’re allowed to try,” the chief said. “And if they’re smart enough to word their questions right, they’ll get the answers they want. For months, I’ve been sidestepping their questions, or giving clever answers that weren’t actual lies. I’ve talked it over with Reverend Wilson and he agrees that in a case like this, where there’s dishonesty and injustice on the other side, what I’ve been doing is permissible. But I won’t swear on the Bible to tell the truth and then lie. So we darn well better solve this thing in the next day or so, or I might be trying to run the investigation from a jail cell.”
“How soon do they want this deposition?” Randall asked.
“They wanted it tomorrow,” the chief said. “And I told them no way in Hades I was going to take time during the first forty-eight hours of a murder investigation to give a deposition in a matter that’s been ongoing for months. You and the county attorney may need to talk some sense into them on that front.”
“Can do,” Randall said. “We’ll delay as much as we can.”
“So, Horace,” the chief said. “Tell me you’ve got something that will clear Mr. Throckmorton and keep me out of the slammer.”
“Not much,” Horace said. “When the GSR tests come back, odds are they’ll show Phinny’s hands are clean. And Rob’s. Of course, most, if not all, of the guards will come back clean, too. No visible blood spatter on Rob or Phinny’s clothes or on the inside of the barrier. But there wasn’t any visible blood spatter on the outside of the barrier either.”
“I guess she was killed a little too far from the barrier,” Randall said.
“Or there was something between her and the barrier that caught most of the spatter,” Horace said.
“You mean, something like the killer’s body?” the chief asked.
Horace nodded.
“But I’m a generalist,” he added. “I think we need to get a really good blood spatter specialist to come down and analyze the scene. And we need to leave the barrier in place until that happens. The exact configuration of the barrier could be critical.”
“Hot dog!” Randall exclaimed. “Chief, we’re not paying this man enough.”
“We’re not paying him at all,” the chief said. “He’s on loan from York County, remember?”
“Then remind me to call up my counterpart in Yorktown and recommend they give him a raise. Horace, how long do you think it would take to get that expert down here?”
“We can’t even put in a request until tomorrow,” Horace said.
“I will give Horace a formal, written request to take down with him tomorrow when he conveys the latest batch of evidence,” the chief said. “He will make sure to deliver the evidence before the lab closes, but I think it unlikely that anyone in authority will be available to act on our request until morning.”
“Thursday morning,” Horace said. “They’ll be off Wednesday for the Fourth of July holiday.”
“Even better,” the chief said. “But by Thursday I may be forced to comply with the subpoena. And after that, the game could be up.”
“So we need to figure out who really did it by Fourth of July,” Rob said. “That’s going to be tough.”
“It has to be one of those damned Flying Monkeys,” Randall said. “They’re the only ones with unrestrained access to the courthouse.”
“Don’t forget the civilian staff,” I said. “The ones like Fisher, who have set up local offices for themselves in the courthouse, and the ones from headquarters who come to visit them.”
“The Flying Monkeys or their corporate bosses.” Randall nodded. “They’re the only ones who had motive, means, and opportunity.”
“Means and opportunity I grant you,” the chief said. “But Ms. Brown was an employee of FPF herself. Hard to see what motive one of the guards could have had for killing someone on their own side of this whole mess.”
“But what if she wasn’t on their side?” I said. “What if they found out she was getting ready to spill the beans, and knocked her off before she could do it?”
“Spill what beans?” Randall asked.
“No idea,” I said. “Since obviously they succeeded in knocking her off before she had a chance to spill them. Unless—”
Something occurred to me. I turned the idea over for a few moments to see if it made sense.
Chapter 20
“Unless what?” the chief prodded.
I still wasn’t sure what I remembered was useful, but I’d let the chief decide.
“Suddenly I find myself remembering something Mr. Denton said,” I told him.
“Mr. Denton?” Randall echoed.
“The private investigator.”
“That’s right—I hear you’ve been getting acquainted with that private eye fellow,” Randall said.
“I had lunch in Muriel’s today,” I said. “By way of a change from fish, fried chicken, and barbecue. The PI tried to strike up a conversation with me, and unlike the rest of the town, I didn’t actually run away screaming. Maybe I’m deluded, but I think I’m savvy enough to have a casual conversation with the man without giving away any of the town’s deep dark secrets.”
“So you really did talk to him?” Randall asked.
“We exchanged about a dozen sentences,” I said. “So if that’s getting acquainted, then yeah, we’ve been getting acquainted.”
“It’s more than anyone else has done,” he said.
“Your cousins and some of the choir husbands were playing poker with him beneath the bandstand earlier this evening,” I said. “They might know more about him than I do by now.”
“Good,” he said. “I keep telling people we should charm the fellow. Maybe winning him over to our side’s too much to hope for—man’s got to eat, after all, and we’re not hiring any PIs. But maybe he knows things we’d find useful if we could winkle them out of him, and no way we can do that if everyone in town clams up the second he appears and snarls at him if he talks to them.”
“And have you been setting an example?” I asked. “Chitchatting with him yourself?”
“Far as I can, but I might be the one person he knows better than to trust,” Randall said. “What did he have to say?”
“Is this relevant to the case at hand?” the chief said.
“Maybe,” I said. “He asked if there was anyone in town who didn’t know he was the PI hired by the lender, and I told him no, we pretty much all knew. He didn’t seem surprised.”
Randall nodded.
“We sparred a bit. Then he said something odd.” I paused to recall his exact words. “He said he was beginning to think that this time he might not be playing on the side of the angels.”
Randall nodded eagerly.
“Yes,” he said. “He knows something.”
“Not about the tunnel, I hope,” I said.
“No, about the Evil Lender,” Randall said. “Something that’s making him wish he hadn’t taken the job.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe he’s just figured out that we’re not the raving lunatics the Evil Lender’s PR department has been trying to make us seem. That we’re a town of basically normal, mostly pretty nice people caught in a bad set of circumstances and trying to make the best of them. Maybe he realizes that even if what the lender is doing is legal, it’s not very nice.”
Chief Burke stirred slightly in his chair. He was probably exhausted and dying to go home to bed.
“And maybe none of this is relevant to the murder,” I said. “But maybe it is. Just what made him think he was on the wrong side? Did he figure it out by himself? Or was it something Colleen Brown told him?”
The chief had taken off his glasses and was rubbing his forehead as if feeling a headache coming on. Or maybe doing it helped him keep from dozing off.
“It’s an interesting theory,” he said. “At least it would be if we knew of any connection between Mr. Denton and Ms. Brown. Apart from the fact that they both worked for the Evil Lender.”
“And were seen privately arguing and behaving furtively when discovered,” I said. “According to Muriel Slattery,” I added, preempting what I knew would be the chief’s next question. “Who does have a bee in her bonnet about wanting to be hypnotized in case there’s more useful information lurking in her subconscious, but is in general a pretty astute observer.”
“So that’s what she was going on about.” The chief grimaced slightly. “When she talked to me, she was so focused on the hypnosis part that she failed to mention those bits of useful information that she actually did remember.”
“Hypnotized?” Dad said. “I could probably find someone who could hypnotize her if she really wants to be hypnotized. In fact—”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” the chief said. “Juries tend to mistrust hypnotism, and a sharp attorney would have a field day with a witness who’s been hypnotized. I will explain to Ms. Slattery tomorrow that for now we prefer to preserve the integrity of her potentially valuable testimony. And maybe then I can actually get her to tell me what it is.”
“You should confront Denton with this,” Randall said.
“I plan to,” the chief said. “But Mr. Denton has already told me that his relationship with Ms. Brown, and for that matter with the several other FPF employees stationed here, has grown increasingly testy during the three weeks of his employment.”
“Let me guess,” Randall said. “They kept pressuring him to come up with some information they could use, and didn’t believe him when he said he couldn’t find any.”
The chief nodded slightly.
“Speaking of pressure, Fisher’s been asking me when they can get their building back,” Randall said.
“It’s a crime scene,” the chief said.
“That’s what I keep telling him. And when I do, he says that the crime scene is in the basement, and can’t they have the rest of the building back.”
The chief glowered.
“Are you instructing me to release the rest of the building to FPF?” he began. “Because—”
“Not what I was getting at,” Randall said, holding up his hands as if in surrender. “I’m just telling you they seem to want back in pretty badly. Don’t know about you, but it raises a red flag in my mind. Makes me want to keep ’em out another day or two until we can figure out what they’re up to.”
The chief relaxed again and smiled ever so slightly.
“I’ll have it checked out. And make sure the deputies on guard there are aware that FPF may be trying to regain access. Horace, how long can you stay tomorrow?”
“Depends on the crime lab,” Horace said. “I’ll call first thing tomorrow to make sure they’re not closing early for the holiday.”
“In other words, the Fourth could add even more than a day to our wait for results,” the chief said, with a sigh.
“If anyone asks why it’s taking so long, send them to me,” Randall said. “I’ll give them my speech about the difference between TV and real-life forensics.”
“As I said, I’ll call and make sure someone at least stays to receive the evidence tomorrow afternoon,” Horace said. “If I can make it sound interesting enough, I might get someone to come in over the holiday and work on it. No guarantees, though.”
“Do as much as you can at the courthouse before you take off,” the chief said.
“What about Phinny’s house?” Horace asked. “Don’t you want me to work on that, too? “
“Yes,” the chief said. He was rubbing his forehead as if all of this wasn’t helping his head. “We did a basic search after Rob reported the vandalism, of course,”
“But that was before you realized the vandalism was actually a burglary,” Horace said. “And that the burglar stole a gun that later became a murder weapon.”
“It calls for a whole new level of effort,” the chief said. “But I think we need to seal Mr. Throckmorton’s house so you can focus on the courthouse. Phinny’s not moving home anytime soon—at least we hope he isn’t—and we need to turn the courthouse inside out before we let FPF back in. Or perhaps I can ask the SBI for some help. Anything else?”
Randall shook his head. So did Ms. Ellie and Rob.
I realized there was just one thing bothering me. I kept thinking, “Why now?”
Chapter 21
“What do you mean ‘why now?’” Randall asked.
I started slightly. I hadn’t realized that I’d said it aloud. They were all looking at me.
“Mr. Throckmorton has been in the basement for over a year,” I said. “And the Evil Lender in possession of the courthouse for the whole of that time. Why wait till now to frame him for murder?”
“Somebody high up got tired of waiting?” Rob suggested.
“Maybe,” I said. “But there have been a lot of other things lately. They hire a new security service. They hire a PI. They bring in a hawk to attack Mr. Throckmorton’s pigeons. They maybe even burgle his house. From what I can see they’ve sent down quite a few more FPF personnel. Colleen Brown hadn’t been here that long, had she?”
“About a month,” Randall said. “And yeah, they do have more suits in town now. You saying you know what they’re up to?”
“No, just that it seems a lot’s going on all of a sudden. I’m not sure we should just assume somebody got fed up. Why now? What happened?”
“Maybe it’s something that’s going to happen,” Randall said. “There’s a big court date coming up that has Festus and his legal team working long hours.”
“Tell me about it,” I said. “They’re up on the third floor, you know. Their lights are already on when I get up, and still on when I stagger off to bed, so I figured something big was coming up. Is it in our suit against the ex-mayor or the ongoing battle with the Evil Lender?”