“And that isn’t an authorized dump site for electronic equipment like this.”
“That’s what the sanitation supervisor told me. By the time the worker got free, the guy had already driven off.”
“What time did this happen?”
“Sometime around nine-thirty.”
“Did you get a description of the man and the vehicle?”
“Not a very good one.” The deputy sounded sheepish and I suspected it was because he’d done a slapdash job on what he’d considered an inconsequential report.
Tina impatiently waved for him to continue.
The deputy said, “He was a white male adult driving a full-sized green pickup truck, unknown make, with a black spot on the driver’s door. Oh, and it had ‘Farm Use’ placards.”
Fourteen
“The same truck the FBI saw at the museum?” Ash asked.
“So, whoever this guy was, he wasn’t just doing a turnaround in the driveway,” said Tina.
I said, “No, he went there to see Merrit, but was scared off when he saw there were other people at the museum.”
“Which means he didn’t want any witnesses when he met Merrit.”
“You usually
don’t
want folks watching when you’re planning to turn someone’s skull into a scale model of that meteor crater in Arizona.”
Ash winced at the imagery. “Do you think he went back later?”
“Until we know more, we have to assume he did.”
Tina turned to the deputy. “I want you to put this stuff with the other homicide evidence and write a
full
report. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ash pointed at the wrecked equipment. “Is this the personal computer issued to Merrit that Marie Merrit said she didn’t have?”
“Yep,” I said.
“So, if the man in the pickup truck was seen at the dump throwing this away and then later at the museum, there’s a good chance he’s connected with Marie.”
“Probably. But, until we identify the guy and establish a relationship, Marie will claim she doesn’t know him and we can’t prove otherwise,” I said to Tina. “What are the chances we can ID the vehicle?”
Tina frowned. “Not good. We’ve got hundreds of farms and probably just as many unlicensed farm vehicles in this county alone.”
“And with the hue and cry over the murder, that truck will stay hidden. So nothing has really changed. We have to interview Linda Ingersoll tomorrow.”
Ash said, “And while you’re in Charlottesville, it occurred to me that there is something else I could do to help.”
“What’s that?”
“I really want to examine those counterfeit teddies before you send them to the crime lab. Correct me if I’m wrong, but at best, all they’ll be able to establish is who manufactured the mohair and stuffing and confirm whether it’s new.”
“And maybe identify what was used to artificially age the bears.” Suddenly, I understood what Ash was about to suggest. “But a teddy bear expert could potentially tell us a lot more.”
“I’m not an expert,” Ash said hurriedly.
“As far as a judge would be concerned, you are. The legal definition of an expert is simply an individual who knows more about a certain subject than the average person. That qualifies you as a bona fide
fur
-ensic expert.”
“I knew that was coming,” groaned Tina. “What do you think you could find out from examining the bears?”
Ash said, “The needlework, fabric piecing, and how the eyes are attached all might give me an idea of who made them. Bear artists usually have a distinctive sewing style. I know most of the teddy bear makers around here and I’m pretty good at recognizing their work.”
“Even if the bears are supposed to look like someone else made them?” Tina asked.
“Hopefully, that’s only on the outside. The artist—and whoever it was
is
an artist—might not have been so careful with what he or she did on the inside.”
“It’s hard to imagine that someone from around here made those bears.”
I said, “I know, but the suspect’s mailing address is in Shefford Gap. So, the counterfeiter has to live close enough to mail packages from the post office there and pick up the incoming checks.”
Tina took her key ring from the clip on her gun belt. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. Before we leave, I’ll get the bears out of evidence and you can sign for them.”
“But I want you to understand that all I’d be offering is an opinion as to who made them.” Ash looked a little apprehensive.
I patted her on the shoulder. “Anything you can tell us will help, because we’re pretty much dead in the water right now, love.”
Tina said, “And as far as talking to Ingersoll tomorrow is concerned, I just thought of something: It’s summer. She’s probably not going to be at the university.”
“But the fact Merrit called her yesterday shows that she’s still in Charlottesville. We’ll have to call her. I know you’ve been busy, but did you run a driver’s license check on her?”
“It’s in my office.”
We followed Tina down the hallway to her office. After a few seconds sorting through the stack of papers on her desk, she produced a sheet with Ingersoll’s driver’s license information and a small digital photo. The face in the picture didn’t fit my image of a sexually adventuress home-wrecker. Curiously, although Ingersoll looked to only be in her midthirties, she wore the oversized eyeglasses with rectangular frames that were popular in the 1970s and a hairstyle that was vaguely reminiscent of the Princess-Leia-dual-mounted-cinnamon-bun look. Then again, she was a history professor and perhaps her area of specialization was the wonderful decade that gave us Watergate, disco, and that modern “Chariot of Fire,” the famously flammable Ford Pinto.
“She looks basically harmless,” I observed.
“And she’s going to look basically
armless
if she offers you some private tutoring,” warned Ash.
Meanwhile, Tina pulled a Charlottesville phone book from her desk drawer. After a few moments of flipping pages, she looked up from the book and said, “Believe it or not, we finally caught a break. She’s got a listed number and a husband. His name is Jeffrey.”
I perched myself on the desk to give my leg a rest. “Not good. If we call and he’s there, she’s going to deny knowing anything.”
“I know, so I guess I’ll call her office number at UVA and hope she’s checking voice mail for a message from Merrit.”
“That sounds best.”
Tina made the call, left a brief message requesting a callback on her cell number, and then retrieved the two counterfeit bears from the evidence room. Then she took us to her house, where we picked up the Xterra and Kitch. It was after six
P.M.
when we finally got home. I fed Kitch and then made a gin and tonic for Ash, while she sautéed some hamburger and salsa to make tacos. I’d just opened a cold bottle of Indian Pale Ale and was grating the Monterey pepper jack cheese when the phone rang.
It was Tina, who said, “I just talked to Ingersoll, and we’re scheduled to meet her tomorrow at nine
A.M.
in her office at UVA.”
“Did you tell her that Merrit is dead?”
“Yeah, and she didn’t take the news very well. She broke down completely.”
“Did she say why he called her yesterday morning?”
“I asked, but she was crying so hard, she couldn’t answer.”
I took a sip of beer. “Do you think it was genuine or was she blowing smoke?”
Tina was silent for a second and then said, “Maybe I’m easily fooled, but if that was a performance, she’s the greatest actress of our time.”
“Anything else?”
“She asked if we could keep a low profile, so I agreed to come in plainclothes.”
“And your patrol car would stick out like someone with a life at a Trekkie convention. You want me to drive?”
“Yes, please. Oh, and I’ve got some other news. I ran Adam Mumford’s name through the DMV computer.”
“The guy Ota sent the check to, right? I’ll bet it’s a fake name.”
“Nope. Mumford is real and he lives in Richmond, but his file is red-flagged. His wallet and driver’s license were stolen last August.”
“We only have his word for that.”
“I know, so I called him. He sounded about eight hundred years old and I almost gave him a heart attack when I told him that his name had come up in a murder investigation,” Tina said with a nervous chuckle. “Then I got his daughter on the phone. She told me her dad has cataracts and could no more drive to Shefford Gap than the moon.”
“Then our counterfeiter is using Mumford’s ID.”
“Yeah, and I’ve sent out a statewide bulletin to see if the name has come up in any other criminal investigations.”
“Excellent work. I’ll see you tomorrow morning around eight.”
“Better make it seven-thirty. These days, there’s some real gridlock getting into Charlottesville.”
I hung up and brought Ash up-to-date. Less than ten minutes later, just as we were sitting down to eat, the phone rang once more.
It was Tina and she sounded flustered. “Sorry to bother you again, Brad, but I just got off the phone with the medical examiner’s office. They told me Merrit’s autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow morning at nine-thirty and as the primary investigator, I have to be there.”
“And that’s in Roanoke?”
“Yeah, two hours from here.”
“Then go. I can handle the interview with Ingersoll.”
“Should I call and tell her that it will just be you there?”
“No, let’s not give her an opportunity to change her mind. I’ll touch base with you after I talk to her.”
I could hear the rustle of pages over the line as Tina consulted some notes. She said, “Okay, you’re going to meet her at Stoller Hall, room number two-oh-seven. If you go to the UVA website you can print out a map.”
“Sounds good. Oh, and have fun at the autopsy. Those MEs can be real cutups.”
“Good night, Brad.”
I hung up the phone and, between bites of wonderful guacamole-laden taco, told Ash about the change in plans.
She took a sip of her drink and said, “How would you like me to come with you?”
“To interview Ingersoll? I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Tell me, are women more perceptive than men about how other people are feeling?”
“Most women.”
“I agree. So, how long do you think it would take for Ingersoll to figure out you think she’s lower than pond scum? My guess is we’re only going to get one chance to question her and she’ll be more inclined to talk if she doesn’t feel as if she’s being judged.”
Ash smiled ruefully. “I guess I shouldn’t play poker, should I?”
I reached out to take her hand. “Just strip poker with me. Besides, we need you to examine those bears. It might turn out that they’re our only tangible lead.”
“You’re right. I thought I’d get started on that after dinner.”
“There’s no point in jumping into it tonight. It’s been a long two days and being tired only leads to mistakes. So, once we finish dinner, why don’t we go outside and watch the sunset and not talk about murder for the rest of the evening.”
Ash smiled. “I’d like that.”
“And you can tell me where you’re going to put our newest teddy bear.”
As I left town the following morning, I saw Sergei and Terry Richert standing near the minister’s mailbox by the road. Sergei was grinning and eagerly signaled me to stop. I pulled over and lowered the passenger window.
Sergei said, “I thought you might want to hear this. I was just giving Terry an after-action report on his sermon from yesterday morning. Some of his flock were still punch-drunk when they arrived at the restaurant after the service.”
Richert gave an embarrassed smile. “All I did was remind them that it was wrong to bear false witness against their neighbors.”
“In a voice audible from outside the church and forty yards away in my parking lot,” Sergei said gleefully. “Then he told the gossipers that they were tin-plated frauds and said that if they wanted to use a church as a place to gossip, they’d better find a different one because he wasn’t going to tolerate it any longer.”
“I wanted to get their attention.”
“Take my word for it, my friend, you did.” Sergei slapped Terry on the back.
I leaned over and extended my hand to the pastor. “Thanks, Terry. I wish I had time to talk, but I’ve got to get to Charlottesville.”
Terry shook my hand. “I heard you and Ashleigh were helping the sheriff. Is this connected with the tragedy at the museum on Saturday?”
“Yeah, unfortunately I’m the lucky stiff that discovered the unlucky stiff.”
“Did those Yakuza kill him?” Sergei asked.
“Unlikely, but it’s looking as if their visit to the museum might have somehow led to Merrit’s murder.” I glanced at my watch. “There’s more, but it’ll have to wait. I’ve got to interview someone in Charlottesville and if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late.”
Shouting a final good-bye, I started down the road again. I drove eastward over the Blue Ridge Mountains through Swift Run Gap and then headed south along U.S. Route 29. The highway is known as Seminole Trail, but with all the new commercial construction lining the road, I think Strip Mall Trail might be a more accurate name. Charlottesville is an attractive and upscale university town, but it’s growing faster than the national debt.
As Tina had predicted, the traffic was heavy. It wasn’t bad by California standards, but that’s like comparing a hot summer day to the temperature of hell. It was 8:40
A.M.
when I turned on to Ivy Road and entered the campus. Time was growing short. I had only a general idea of where Stoller Hall was, and I didn’t know how far I was going to have to walk once I did find it. Still, I slowed down to admire the scenery. With Thomas Jefferson as an original architect and nestled at the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the University of Virginia is one of the loveliest campuses in North America. I passed the white-domed, brick Rotunda and saw a road sign pointing in the direction of Stoller Hall, a three-story Romanesque building that was mostly concealed by tall maple trees.
Few summer students meant plenty of parking, and I easily found a handicapped space near the rear entrance of the hall. There were only a few other cars in the parking lot and the nearest was a cobalt blue Chrysler 300C. I automatically jotted down the license plate, just in case it belonged to Ingersoll. One of the things about working a homicide investigation is that you never have the luxury of knowing what might be a clue, so you have to collect all the information.