Tales of Chills and Thrills: The Mystery Thriller Horror Box Set (7 Mystery Thriller Horror Novels) (72 page)

In the following silence, he could envision her struggling
to address that request while still maintaining that Washington wasn’t
necessarily a patient.

“If—and I stress
if
—Mrs. Washington contacts me –”

Robbins rolled his eyes. Like he didn’t know Washington was
seeing the bitch.

“– of course I will assess her immediate safety issues and
ensure she is in a secure location.”

“If someone is gunning for her—or anyone else—it’s better to
let the police handle it. Don’t attempt it yourself.” He really wanted to hang
up, but forced himself to wait for her acknowledgement.

“I understand my role.” The tone had returned to deep
freeze. “Do you?”

He was still sorting out the nuances of her comment when the
phone switched from dead air to the annoying voice recording about hanging up
the phone to make another call.

His life would be a hell of a lot easier if he knew
everybody’s role.

Or if he even knew who all the players were.

Jordan burst into the squad room at 5:47 that afternoon.
“Did you find them?”

“I didn’t expect you for another twenty minutes.” Robbins
dropped his pen onto the notes he’d been writing about his session with Dr.
McKinley. The drive from Charleston took roughly two and a half hours—at the
posted speed limits.

Jordan grinned. “You aren’t the only one with friends. I got
an escort.”

Robbins snorted. “Did you use the time to come up with a
different scenario on what these guys are up to? ‘Cause no, I don’t have a
fuckin’ clue where they are.”

Jordan placed his briefcase—a new, leather-sided one he was
proud of—on his desk. “I was thinking about the Center, up in Greenville. Maybe
the picture—picking it up the way Beason did—was another message. Remember you
said him mentioning his wife was some kind of a signal. Hayes is a thief. Maybe
Beason was trying to tell us Hayes intends to steal something.”

“Steal what? The director said they don’t keep a permanent
collection.”

“Would Hayes or Beason know that? It sure sounded like
Beason told Hayes there were cylinder seals up there. Maybe that’s what he was
looking to steal.” Jordan dropped into his desk chair and unloaded a sheaf of
paper from his briefcase.

Robbins shook his head. “If you’re going to steal something,
you rob a bank or grab stuff you know you can convert to cash in a hurry. What
are two black guys going to do with a bunch of antique things? Sell ‘em on
eBay?”

“Then why were they asking about the seals?”

“Who knows? Step back a minute. Run the time-line for the
scenarios. The first one is real short. Washington found Hayes somehow while he
was in the brig and hired him to do something to her father. Scare the crap out
of him. Kidnap him. Kill him. Take your pick.”

“Revenge, anger—good motive. Uses the facts we have.
Washington at the prison. Beason’s house invaded. The two men at the Center.
But if Hayes was supposed to kill Beason, why did he drag him up to
Greenville?”

“Which brings us to scenario two.” Robbins wished he had a
cigarette and settled from drumming his fingers. “Which could include scenario
one if Hayes has his own agenda. Hayes stole something while he was in the army.
It would help to know what, but we don’t.”

“Remember that army clerk who supposedly shipped home a
Jeep, one piece at a time? I always wondered if that actually happened. If
Tyrell…” Jordan’s words trailed off. He dropped his head and messed with the stack
of papers.

“You finished with your detour into LaLa-land?”

“Yeah.”

Damn, the kid blushed. Robbins shook his head. “Anyway,
Hayes got caught—maybe the first time he did it, maybe after he’d been stealing
for a while—was court-martialed and incarcerated for reasons unknown. He talked
to Gloria Washington while he was inside. Then when Hayes gets out, he shows up
at Gloria’s father’s house, tears it apart, and ends up in Greenville looking
for antique cylinder seals. So the seals mean something, either themselves or
because they lead to something else.”

“Could Washington have known about the seals? Told Hayes her
father had some or knew where to find them?”

“Wait a minute.” The idea hit Robbins like a baseball bat.
“You said Iraq. Where in Iraq was Hayes assigned?”

Jordan sorted through his notes. “He was in Baghdad when the
MPs arrested him.”

Robbins opened the Internet browser, pulled up his history
and clicked a site he’d visited earlier that day when he researched cylinder
seals. “During 2003, our troops were in Baghdad, hunting down Saddam Hussein.
The Iraq Museum got looted in April of 2003, during the early part of the
invasion. First the army got blamed for the looting, then blamed for not
stopping it.”

“I kinda remember hearing about it.”

“I don’t know that anybody outside the art or history world
cared. They should, but…” Robbins shrugged. “Mostly it was the usual ‘America
sucks’ crap. A Marine colonel was the one who put a plan in place to get the
stuff back. Anyway, turns out it was an inside job, most items found, blah,
blah, blah but a bunch of these cylinder seals are still missing. What if Hayes
stole some of them before he was caught and court-martialed?”

“Maybe he got caught with some of them and that’s why he was
court-martialed.” Jordan slid the photo-copied pages from the brig across the
desk.

“Could be. They’re small. Valuable. Be easy to conceal…
Maybe he shipped some out of the country before he got caught. That could also
be why Beason’s place was tossed. The guy thought Beason had them.”

“Why would Hayes think that?” Jordan asked.

Robbins ignored him. His brain was moving fast, making new
connections. “What if…What if there’s a connection between Hayes and Beason’s
grandson?”

He flipped to the charts Jordan had made of the Beason family.
“Akeem Beason was in the army at the same time as Hayes.”

“So were a million other guys. I was probably in the army at
the same time they were.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t show up on George Beason’s doorstep
and toss his house.” Robbins picked up the phone and called Sargent Major
Monteith, his contact at Fort Jackson. “One more question.”

“Rocket, I told you…”

“This can’t breach security. The guys aren’t in the military
any longer. One of them is dead and Hayes is out; dishonorable discharge.”

Monteith blew out a breath, then said. “You can ask—this
time. Only this time.”

“I’m looking for a connection between Tyrell Hayes and Akeem
Beason. He’s the grandson of George Beason, the old man who’s missing.” He fed
Monteith the two men’s vital statistics. “Was Hayes in same outfit as Beason’s
grandson?”

He heard computer keys clicking, then Monteith said, “Same
squad.”

Robbins nodded his head, although Monteith couldn’t see him.
“Thanks for the confirmation.”

“Don’t make it a habit.”

Robbins hung up and turned to Jordan. “Okay. We still can’t
prove anything, but I have an idea. The grandson was killed in Iraq. Find out
when.” He pointed at the computer.

“May 2nd, 2003,” Jordan said a few minutes later. “About a
week before Hayes was arrested. Right before Beason’s tour would’ve been over.”

“Right after the museum looting.” Robbins laced his fingers
behind his head and ignored the life-sucks-irony of getting killed so close to
the end of his tour. “If Hayes stole some of these cylinders, or got them from
somebody else who stole them, was Beason Junior part of the theft?”

“Akeem Beason wasn’t the one who did time—inside or outside
the army.” Jordan rose and stepped across to the white board. “Part of the
theft or not, Akeem was tight with his grandfather. Maybe he talked about the
old man, so Hayes sent the contraband there, figuring he could retrieve it
later.”

“Hayes could’ve talked Junior into it. The kid could’ve been
tempted. A way to make easy money. They stole the seals together and sent them
stateside.”

“It’s possible,” Jordan conceded. “Hayes didn’t have anybody
he trusted to send the package to, so they sent it to George Beason. Then Akeem
Beason died before he could get home and intercept the package. Hayes gets
caught, does his time and when he gets out, he wants those seals.”

Robbins shook his head. “One problem with that theory. If
the seals showed up, out of the blue from someone Beason didn’t know, he
would’ve turned them in.”

“But Beason knew about the seals.” Jordan paced the small
office area. “Beason told Hayes the seals were at the Nippon Center.”

Robbins fingers untangled and reached toward his shirt
pocket. Damn, he wanted a cigarette. They helped him think. “The seals show up
at Beason’s house with or without his grandson’s involvement. Beason stashed
them somewhere because Hayes didn’t find them when he tossed the house. Going
to the Nisson Center bought Beason time for someone to realize he was
gone—missing. Trying to get arrested for stealing the picture made damn sure
the people up there remembered him.”

“Which leaves us right where we started,” Jordan said. “We
still don’t have any idea where Beason and Hayes are, much less where these
seals are. Or if there’s even a connection between them.”

“Let’s narrow it down. Who might know about the seals?”

Jordan picked up a marker and scribbled names as he talked.
“Hayes. Beason Junior and Senior. What about Washington? Maybe that’s why she
took off. Think she has the seals or knows where they are?”

“Could be.” Robbins picked up his pen. It was a lousy substitute
for a cigarette. “We need somebody to spot one of them. They probably holed up
somewhere last night, but they should be on the move today.”

“They could be resting up for tonight, if they plan to break
into the next place—wherever they think the seals are.” Jordan capped the
marker and crossed his arms.

“While we sit around and wait.”

“What about Beason’s wife?” Jordan was still looking at the
white board. “There has to be a reason he mentioned his wife.”

His wife. Robbins glanced at his watch. Time for phase two
of his Make-his-wife-happy program. “Beason’s wife is dead and buried. Maybe
the seals are too and Beason’s leading Hayes on a wild goose chase until we
catch up to them.”

“I sorta admire this old guy,” Jordan said.

“Me, too. Try to come up with someone else to call or
another place to look for them.” Robbins rose and picked up his jacket. “I’m
outta here. Call me the second we get a hit on the car or either one of the
men. Or Washington.”

A few minutes later, Robbins stopped at Grunder’s Café—Sharon’s
favorite restaurant. He picked up the to-go dinners he’d ordered earlier that
day and placed them on the back seat where they wouldn’t get knocked over. He
caught himself smiling and humming a line from some song as he threaded through
back streets and cut over past the cemetery. The smile left his face as the
graffiti-tagged wall mocked him.

Robbins glared at the offending bricks. People were upset
about the vandalism. Spray paint anywhere was a nuisance. Spray painting a
cemetery—that was just low. He hoped the judge’s sentence for the offender—and
they
would
catch whoever did this—included scrubbing the wall clean.

Another few turns and he entered his neighborhood, trying to
recapture the good mood he started home with. Surprises for his wife. She’d be
happy. He might even get lucky.

He pulled into his driveway. The yard guy had done a good
job, he noticed. The guy even edged the drive and sidewalk. A smile turned up
the corners of his mouth. His plan was coming together. Sharon was home from work—her
car was in the garage—but it was too early for her to have started dinner.

He was transferring the meals to plates when Sharon walked
into kitchen.

“Larry? What are you doing home?” She eyed the plates and
takeout boxes. “What are you doing, period?”

“I want to have dinner with my wife.”

He saw confusion, and maybe a little suspicion, in her face.
He dropped the serving spoon into the container, and arms crossed, leaned
against the counter. “I know I’m not the easiest guy in the world to be married
to. I have unpredictable hours and a stressful job. But I want us to work. Our
marriage. For you to be happy.”

Sharon looked at him for a long silent spell. Long enough
that he nearly started to sweat.

“I miss the kids. A lot.” She dropped her gaze and he hoped
she wouldn’t start crying.

Again.

This wasn’t how he’d envisioned the evening working out.

Finally she raised her head, a smile plastered across her
face. She crossed the kitchen and draped her arms around his neck. “You’re a
good guy. A good father.”

This was more like it. He wrapped his arms around her waist,
took a deep breath, and inhaled her perfume, her body scent.

“It’s going to take more than one dinner to turn you into a
good husband.”

“It’s a start.”

She smiled for real. “It’s a start.”

After dinner, they settled in the living room with a cup of
coffee. Robbins fiddled with the recliner, adjusting it to the right angle
while Sharon curled into the corner of the sofa. He took a sip of coffee, then
said, “Our kids. They’re good kids, right?”

She put down her cup, instantly on alert. “Why? Did
something happen? Is that why –”

“Nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking about them. But if
they did do something, we’d forgive them.”

Sharon eyed him. “Is this related to one of your cases?”

He looked away. It was an unwritten rule. The job stayed at
the office. The rule had been in place so long he couldn’t remember if it was
because she didn’t want to hear it, or he didn’t—couldn’t—talk about his cases.
But this thing with Hayes and his parents, that wasn’t just the job. How could
he explain his anger that they’d washed their hands, erased their child from
their life?