“Yeah,” I mumbled, “I just didn’t get much sleep last night.”
He eyed me a bit knowing full well that I wasn’t telling the whole story. “We’ll talk about it later. But, Sombrero thinks you might want to know this. He’s in the back room.”
I wormed my way through the cars and equipment they had in the garage gradually working my way to the back. Many of the guys hollered a greeting and I returned it with a wave.
Sombrero sat at the table in the far corner of the room with the accounting books open. He waved me over to a chair.
“I’ve spent the last several hours going through the figures in these books.”
“Books? I only handed Tiny one.”
“He went back for more. Sit down.”
I scooted a chair close so that I could look at what he had.
“This book,” Sombrero held up the one that I had found, “Has all the figures concerning various charity funds.”
“The city does a lot of charity funds,” I said.
“But these funds were all run by Randall Hopkins.”
My attention snapped to full alert. Randall Hopkins had talked to Jackie and me about the Charity Ball that he was in charge of.
“See this column here?” Sombrero pointed to a column of numbers in red ink. “These numbers are the figures that the various funds actually collected. This column over here,” he pointed to a bunch of numbers written in green ink, “Are the numbers that were officially reported by the city.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, “They don’t match.”
“Exactly. It took me a while to figure out the system used in this book. This third column is full of transaction numbers.” Sombrero drew my attention to the final column of numbers that were written in blue ink.
“So what does it all mean?” I asked.
“From a glance this all just looks like a bunch of nonsensical numbers. But these books from that woman’s place,” he pointed to the extra books on the table, “Are what made everything clear.”
I glanced through one of the books that Sombrero had gestured to. It was full of numbers written in Helen’s neat handwriting; drastically different from the handwriting in the book that I had taken.
“I think that Helen woman figured out what was going on. You can see where she worked out the numbers for herself.”
“But this book isn’t in her handwriting.”
“No. I suspect she stumbled upon this and then took it.”
“But then who did this book?” I gestured to the one that Sombrero held, with the messy handwriting.
“Randall Hopkins had a different accountant do all the figures for his charities. It was always the same guy. That in itself doesn’t mean much, except in this book,” he grabbed another book written in the same messy handwriting, “The numbers in here match the differences in this first one.”
“What do you mean.”
“In this red column, it says that the children’s fund received about $25,000. But the green column indicates that it was $16,000. Now in this book, another fundraiser run by Randall Hopkins, received $9,000; the difference between the first two numbers.”
I began to get the picture.
“You can match it up here line by line. And again here in Helen’s own book as she no doubt worked out the numbers for herself to discover what was going on. These transaction numbers belong to a bank outside the country.”
“What?”
“Yeah. I did some digging on the web. The account is in another name and is supposedly for some charity organization, but I cannot find any record of the organization ever having actually existed.”
“So Randall Hopkins was skimming money into a private account?”
“It looks that way. In any case either he was, his accountant was, or they both were.”
“The accountant?”
“There was a case about ten years ago about an accountant at a law firm that embezzled money without the firm’s knowledge. They settled out of court and the guy managed to get off with a light sentence. The same accountant worked on these two books.”
“But Randall could have known about it, since he had the same guy keeping the numbers straight for his charities.”
“Possible, but it could be that he just trusted the guy. Some people do like to give ex-cons second chances.”
“What was his name?” I asked.
“Jason Harold.”
“I want to talk with him.”
“That will be difficult.” Sombrero held up an old newspaper. The headline read, City Accountant Dies in Fatal Crash. That certainly put a damper in my plans. “It happened a month ago.”
“Could he have been murdered?”
“Possibly, but the investigation determined that it was an accident. The guy was intoxicated and well-known for drinking at bars until the early hours of the morning. Anyway, after he died, these figures stopped. Everything stopped.”
“So this Jason guy could have been doing this all on his own.”
“That is entirely possible and probably what we are supposed to believe. But the question remains: if Helen Campbell stumbled upon these books and worked out what was going on, then who killed her?”
That was a very good question. This meant that the real embezzler was still alive and wanted to keep Helen quiet.
“It would be nice to know if Randall Hopkins knew what was going on with the charity funds he was in charge of,” said Sombrero, “Too bad we don’t have a way of getting into that dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Yeah, it was in the paper. Top city officials are having a wine and dine session tonight for all upcoming candidates and their donors. It happens every election year. But only those with invitations are allowed in. It’s taking place at Randall Hopkins’ home.”
“Well, maybe next year. Thanks for your help.”
Heading back to my car, I racked my brain for where to start next. I wanted to tell Jackie about all this, but her phone kept going to voicemail. I gave up trying to reach her and went to work.
The Candle Shoppe had more than the normal amount of people in it. Everyone busied themselves with Christmas shopping and the gift baskets we had flew off the shelves. I hung my coat up in the back where new lockers had been put in for employees to store their belongings. Mr. Stilton had grown tired of us shoving our things below the cash register. The door to my locker clanged as I slammed it shut. Taking a deep breath, I prepared for another chaotic day at work.
“Mel,” Tammy accosted me the moment I appeared in the main area. “Are there anymore plans for solving…you know.”
“Not at the moment,” I replied. “I’ll let you know otherwise.”
“Okay.” She darted off.
“Mel,” Mr. Stilton came up to me, “I need you to fix the Christmas display. There are more gift baskets in the back.”
I nodded my head. I lugged the supply of gift baskets out of the storeroom and set it by the table. Delicately, I stacked the baskets into a pyramid forming a nice display. It wasn’t much. Just a bunch of gift baskets stacked in a way to encourage people to buy them. Rustling plastic swept past me as a woman snatched a gift basket from my neat display. I filled the vacant spot with another.
“That looks great, Mel,” said Jackie. “Sorry I haven’t gotten back to you.”
I carried the box back to the storeroom. “It’s fine. I just thought you’d like to know what I discovered about the woman I saw get murdered.”
“Oh?”
“Her name was Helen Campbell. She was an accountant for the city and she had log books for the various charity funds that Randall Hopkins was in charge of. She discovered that something wasn’t right.”
“Are you serious?” Jackie had a doubtful look on her face.
“Of course I am,” I replied, “I just got finished going over the books with Sombrero and he says that someone was embezzling money using the charity funds as a way to hide it.”
“You really don’t like him do you?
” Jackie’s expression darkened.
“Whether I like him or not doesn’t matter. I’m telling you what I learned.”
“If you had problems with him, you should come to me. I don’t believe you, Mel.”
“Jackie, what has gotten into you?” Her sudden defensive posture mystified me. “A woman was murdered. I am just trying to discover who did it.” I straightened the items on a few shelves.
“By going after my boyfriend.”
Boyfriend? This was news. “You’ve been on a couple of dates.”
“So? I like him, Mel. And I don’t appreciate that he is suspect number one on your list.”
“Well, what if he did do it?”
“He couldn’t have,” said Jackie. “He got me this.” She held up her arm. On her wrist rested a silvery bracelet with rubies. I studied it. Genuine. Really genuine.
“Tammy and I went to Jack and had him look up information. What he brought was a bunch of questions concerning Randall. Maybe it’s nothing. But we have to know the truth.”
“You and Tammy?”
“Yes,” I replied, “You were too busy and she wanted to come.”
Jackie looked hurt that I had done something without her.
“Jackie, just be careful will you?”
She shook her head releasing a long, slow breath. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“What if he’s using you?”
”You know, he’s having a party at his house tomorrow night. I was going to invite you to come with us.”
“Was?”
“Perhaps you and Tammy should do something together.” Jackie stalked off to help a line of customers forming at the counter.
Needing fresh air, I decided to take my lunch early. “I’m taking my lunch,” I told Mr. Stilton as I grabbed my stuff and headed out the door.
This was ridiculous. What happened to Jackie? When I started dating Greg, I never let him come between our friendship. But she dates some guy who is the talk of the town and I no longer exist. She knows I would never purposefully go after someone she cared about. But a nagging feeling kept bothering me. He was too interested in her.
I hiked down to the empty apartment where I saw the Helen woman get killed. There had to be something in there. Mostly I wanted to know how someone managed to get a body out of there before I had entered the room that night.
I paused on the sidewalk as someone walked out of the building scratching his exposed butt crack. The landlord. He looked just as grotesque by day as he had that night. As he disappeared down the walk, I hurried to the door and slipped inside. Within moments I stood at the door to the empty apartment. I jimmied the lock. It popped open and I went in before anyone noticed my presence. It wasn’t hard. I bet none of the locks bolted well in this place.
Still empty. The place hadn’t changed at all. I made my way to the window where the fire escape was. It opened easily enough. Ignoring the cold metal of the window frame, I crawled outside onto the fire escape. The steps didn’t go all the way down, a major safety violation. The structure creaked and rocked with every step I took. The murderer didn’t go this way.
The window next to the one I had crawled out of caught my eye. It was left ajar. Placing my bare hands on the icy frame, I lifted it up. Despite the wear and tear of the place, the window opened easily. Looking around to make certain no one saw me, I went in. Quickly, I shut the window making certain that it remained ajar.
I swept the place with my eyes. What a slob! Empty beer bottles littered the floor mixed in among discarded bags from various fast food joints; completely covering the carpet beneath my feet. Burger wrappers and boxes of moldy fries added “color” to the place. I picked my way through the trash heap hoping that I didn’t trip. A mouse skittered across the floor. How did this guy stay in business?
Gradually, I made my way to the exit letting myself out. A slamming door caught my attention. It came from the right, well away from the main entrance. I rushed toward the source of the sound. A dark narrow hallway stood between me and the mysterious door. That nagging feeling that I shouldn’t go that way gnawed at me. I ignored it.
Picking my way through the dark corridor, I stumbled upon the mysterious door. A sign on it read “Emergency Exit”. Most of these have alarms, but someone went out of here without setting it off. Placating my curiosity, I pushed it open a crack. No alarm. I pushed the heavy door some more. Nothing; not even the person that had gone through it moments before. Could the killer have come this way by going through the landlord’s apartment? But the landlord would have noticed, unless he was passed out.
I stepped through the door and stomped down the metal staircase to the alley below. Trash scratched the frozen ground as a breeze blew it away from me. Which way? I headed to the left running through the alley to the street beyond. Instantly, I recognized the road. The night of the parade, it would have been fairly empty with only parked cars.
A picture of what happened that night played in my mind. The killer must have taken the body onto the fire escape out the window, only to find that that route had been cut off. But with the landlord’s window open, a person could have pushed their way in. I imagined the murderer lugging Helen’s body through the landlord’s apartment, with the landlord himself passed out drunk. Then, he could have dragged her through the Emergency Exit that I had just come out of. It made sense. But the part about the landlord bothered me. Someone would have noticed a person breaking into their home with a corpse. Unless, he wasn’t there like he claimed.
I needed to know more about Randall Hopkins. I needed to search his home and he was having a party at his house. I pulled out my phone and dialed Tiny. He answered on the first ring.
“Tiny,” I said, “I need you to find a man named Adam Kilter. We need to talk.”
“You got it.”
I hung up and checked my watch. Oh, crap! My lunch hour had ended fifteen minutes ago. Hurriedly, I dashed down the street and back to the Candle Shoppe. Panting uncontrollably as I approached, I waited a bit to catch my breath before going in. I snuck in the back entrance in the alley. Hopefully, no one noticed my absence. Spotting Mr. Stilton as I hung up my coat, I snatched a box of scented oils and sprinted to the main room.
“Hello, Mr. Stilton,” I greeted as I rushed past.
The rest of the afternoon passed steadily with a constant flow of customers. A knock on the main window drew my attention. Tiny and his pals stood there holding a very irate Adam Kilter. I mean, literally holding him up. His feet didn’t even touch the concrete. Making certain that no one watched us; I motioned for them to go to the back door.
“Let me go,” yelled Adam as I opened it and slipped out into the alley.
“Shut up,” ordered Tiny.
“What is all this?” demanded Adam.
“I need your help, Mr. Kilter,” I said. “You are still a part of that spy club of yours?”
“Yeah,” said Adam, glaring at me.
“I need you and your friends to get me into Randall Hopkins’ party tomorrow night.”
Adam choked. “Are you kidding me? That’s insane!”
“Insane? I distinctly remember you telling me that you guys did stuff like this all the time.”
“Well, yeah, we do for kicks.”
“This time it’s the real thing. I need to search his home.”
“You mean mansion,” said Adam.
“What?”
“You didn’t know? His family is old colonial. That means old money. He’s a scion of one of the wealthiest families; that’s why he’s on the council. That party is to get campaign contributions from his wealthy pals. He has plans of running for governor someday.”
“I don’t care about his plans,” I said, “I just need to get into his home to search it and to study him. That party is perfect. No one will notice an extra person.”
“I’m not doing it,” said Adam. “You’ll never make me.”
“Oh, I won’t,” I replied, “They will.” I pointed to Tiny and h
is friends.
Adam laughed.
“You got that rope, Slim?”
Slim grinned. “Sure do.”
“Rope?” said Adam, a note of fear in his voice. “What are you planning?”
“Oh, we’re just going to hang you up like a Christmas ornament,” replied Tiny.
“Up where?”
Tiny pointed to the roof of a tall building. “We might just leave you up there. It’d give you a chance to reconsider Mel’s request.”
“You wouldn’t!” shrieked Adam.
I kept my face impassive, hoping that Tiny’s threat was just a threat.
“Get the rope, Slim,” said Tiny.
“No—I’ll do it,” yelled Adam struggling to get away. “I’ll do it!”
“The party is tomorrow night at eight. I need to be able to get in there and out again without being noticed. I will need to blend in and look like I belong.”
“Got it,” said Adam.
“Doesn’t Randall know what you look like?” asked Tiny.
Hadn’t thought of that. “He does. But if Adam’s friends keep him busy, then he won’t know I’m there. And—”
“Mel, where are—?” Tammy stepped outside wondering where I had gone. I really didn’t want her in on this, but now had no choice.
“And I’ll be bringing a friend,” I finished.
“We’ll take care of everything. You’ll get in there and be able to do what you need,” said Adam.
“Agreed,” I said. “Let him go, Tiny.”
Tiny lifted Adam up to his height so he could stare into the man’s eyes. “If you double cross us, there is no place you’ll be able to hide.”
“I got it,” quivered Adam.
Tiny released his hold on Adam. The man darted away. I hoped he’d come through.
“Don’t worry,” said Tiny in answer to my unspoken worry, “My boys will keep an eye on him.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I need to get back to work.”
“Mel, what’s going on?” Tammy asked me as we stepped back inside.
“How would you like to do a bit of espionage tomorrow night?”
Tammy beamed. “Really? You mean it?”
“Yes, but you must tell no one. Be at my place right after work.”
Janet McNulty - Mellow Summers 05 - Oh Holy Ghost Page 5
