4 DEAD ... If Only

by Heather Haven

  “I’m with Lee on this, Lila.” Richard matched Lila, stern for stern. “We need to stick with it. This is for Vicki.”

  “Not to the point of making her a widow, Rich,” Gurn said. “And I don’t particularly feel like taking care of Tugger and Baba on my own, either.” He focused in on me.

  “Exactly,” Lila said. “We have other options. We can turn over what we have to the police or --”

  “No! At this point, we can’t trust them or the FBI.” I was adamant. “We started this. We need to finish it.”

  “Lee.” Gurn turned to me. “Manning needs to go down; we all agree. But does it matter who takes him down? It could be too big for us, just as Lila says.”

  “I want to know if there’s enough in what I salvaged from the fire to do a deal with the FBI.” My voice was strong and took center stage. “Speaking of that, Richard, here’s an email list I found in the bunker. I haven’t looked through it yet, but it seems to be in a very small font. There must be easily two-hundred names on this one page.”

  He took the paper from me and shoved it in his pocket. “Okay, thanks. I’ll look at it later. So what deal are you talking about?” Richard looked perplexed.

  “An exchange for Manning,” Gurn said quietly.

  “If what we’ve got is enough to break this child porno ring wide open,” I said, “they don’t need his testimony and they’ll no longer protect him. We can take him back to Palo Alto and he can stand trial for what he did to Robin.”

  “Well, Vicki would love that, seeing the man pay for what he did to her sister. I haven’t told her yet about the FBI’s plans to set him free.” Richard looked down at the stack of papers, and riffled through them nervously. He was probably remembering me giving him flack about him not telling Vicki about the murder charges.

  “I believe that’s wise, Richard.” Lila’s voice was soft, the authoritative quality all but gone. “There’s no point in worrying her about what hasn’t happened yet. She needs to get well.”

  Lila reached out and covered his hand with hers. An intimate moment was shared between mother and son, the likes of which I’d never seen in one of our business meetings before.

  “I’m with Mom,” I said, taking my cue from Lila. I glanced over at Gurn, who leaned back letting the ‘family’ take over for a time. After a moment I said, “I’ve got an idea. Even though the Feds are probably watching the place, let’s hire our own people for the next couple of days. It’s expensive, but maybe we’ll learn something outside the box.”

  “Agreed,” everyone said in unison.

  Gurn leaned forward. “I know a couple of men who freelance out of Atlanta. They’re good. I’ll give them a call, see if they can show up first thing tomorrow morning,” he said, directing his last comment to Lila, who nodded.

  After clearing his throat, my brother said, “What Lee managed to save was about fifty manila folders and around four hundred individual papers, many singed with areas currently unreadable. Right now Andy is scanning everything into a database. What I hope to do is link the database with a program that’s far more sensitive than the naked eye in word discovery, comparison, and recognition.

  “Once it captures everything possible on the papers, we can have it eliminate particular non-noun repeat words, such as ‘the’ ‘that’, ‘this’, ‘those’, etc. Then we can collate names, dates, and so forth. We can probably whip through what’s left of the data once the program does its stuff, in a matter of hours instead of weeks.”

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  “This program is sweet.” Richard clucked in appreciation. “Sweet. Fortunately, a lot of the tabs on the file folders were not burned, probably due to their thickness, with names of dozens of people, businesses, and email addresses. Exactly how they link up, we don’t know yet. Good job, Lee.” His face wore a momentary hero worshiper’s expression.

  “Yes, but is it enough to indict?” I rubbed my eyes, hot and tired.

  “I can’t say for sure. Even with the names easily read, there’s missing data and it takes time to connect the dots. There could be some good guys in there, as well as bad.”

  “You mean like law-enforcement agents they were keeping tabs on,” said Gurn to Richard.

  “Right. So far, we have several ‘for-sure’ names, people there is no doubt are mixed up in this in a bad way. And I’ve learned some of them are criminals known to police and the FBI, but others are up-standing citizens across the country, even a few celebrities.”

  “The latter possibly being clientele, but just as guilty.” Gurn’s voice was ripe with emotion. Child pornography can affect one like that. “I have some lawyer friends at a D.C. firm who have paralegals and research assistants. Maybe their team can take a look at what we’ve got so far and see if any of it translates into admissible evidence.”

  “You’ve just got friends everywhere, Mr. Popular,” I piped up, beaming in his direction.

  “What can I say?” He winked at me then became serious again. “I mention them because they specialize in child molestation cases. If we send them the papers, I’ll bet they’d know in a few hours time if there’s enough evidence to bring a case before a judge. And it would be attorney-client privilege, so no leakage problem.”

  “It sounds like a good idea but it’s up to Lila.” Richard looked over at D.I.’s CEO.

  Lila wore a grim look on her face, but I could see the wheels turning. “I wouldn’t want to send it by any hack-able method,” Lila finally said.

  “That nixes email, the internet, and faxing,” I said. “Courier’s the only way.”

  “And carried by someone we trust implicitly,” Lila muttered.

  “Looks like I’ve got a return trip to D.C. coming up tonight or tomorrow.” Gurn looked at each of us.

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday,” I said. “Do they work on Sundays?”

  “Attorneys?” Gurn gave out a chuckle. “It’s easy to see you’ve never been involved with one.”

  “Well, not intimately.”

  Gurn smiled at me. “Anyway, they work pretty much twenty-four seven, if they want to get ahead.”

  “Gurn, thank you for the offer, but I think you are of more value here.” Lila smiled in his direction then turned to Richard. “Why don’t we send Andy with the package?”

  “Sure,” said Richard. “He’s almost finished scanning the smaller pieces and laminating them for safe keeping. Meanwhile, I’ll continue to feed the information into the database and have the program analyze them. We should be done with the bulk of it by late tonight, probably before three am. Who needs sleep, anyway?”

  “Agreed,” said Lila. “Gurn, you set everything up in Washington with your contacts and Andy will take a plane to their offices first thing in the morning. Be sure to tell them to bill Discretionary Inquiries.”

  Gurn nodded. “And any conversations with them over the phone needn’t reveal much. They’re pretty savvy guys and we’ve worked together before.”

  “Is that as CIA or as a CPA who did their taxes?” I let out a chortle.

  “Neither. NROTC, smarty pants, just like I came to know Rich.”

  Richard joined the Navy Reserves in college, where Gurn was his commanding officer. They maintained a friendship afterward, and I met Gurn when Richard persuaded him to tail me on a previous case, and unnecessarily so, I might add. But it turned out well, both the case and the romance.

  “Are you two going to keep that up, the ceaseless banter?” Richard rolled his eyes in our direction. “Because I’d like to go upstairs and see my wife before I head back to the lab, if we’re finished with important matters.”

  “On the police report you gave me, Richard,” I said. “Other than it mentioning that Manning was brought in for questioning for following a young girl home from school the year before, there wasn’t anything pertaining to Robin or her case in there.”

  “He assaulted another girl?” Lila turned to me. “Were any charges filed against him?”

  I shook my head. �
�It wasn’t the same scenario as Robin. He scared the girl, but she managed to run home. The charges were dropped, but the girl’s family moved out of the Bay Area shortly after that. Were they leaving, anyway, or did they get paid to go away? Manning certainly had the money.”

  “We’ll never know unless we do an investigation,” Lila said.

  “If need be,” said Gurn, “we could track them down and try to find out.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that; we’ve got enough on our plate.” I leaned back in my chair, suddenly very tired. “So let’s leave that waiting in the wings.”

  “Then we’re finished, as far as I know,” Lila said.

  “Good,” said Gurn, rising. “I’d better call my pals in D.C. and give them the heads up. Then I’ll call Atlanta.”

  “There is one more thing,” I said. Gurn sat down again. “I have something else to tell you now that we’ve got the Manning business out of the way. Detective Devereux is the one who broke into our room this morning. He admitted it.”

  After several ohs and ahs from everyone at the table, I repeated the conversation verbatim between the police detective and myself. I have a near photographic memory for verbiage, but not numbers. Whatever that condition is, I’ve got it.

  “Devereux says the voodoo doll episode wasn’t his and I believe him. Although, I still don’t trust him. He’s got a hidden agenda; I can smell it. I didn’t tell him about my visit to Colbert’s Motors or the papers, but I did let him know we’re not leaving town without Manning.”

  “Was that wise, I wonder?” asked Lila, musing. “Well, what’s done is done.”

  “And you know we moved, Lila, to a safe house over on St. Peters,” Gurn said. “If you call the hotel, we’re still registered, but we’re not there. Call our phones.”

  Richard stood. “I’m going up to see Vicki now. Someone let me know when food is ready. I understand Tío is making dinner and I’m starved.”

  “You just ate a plateful of anything you could get your grubby little hands on,” I said. “You must have a hollow leg, I swear.”

  “Never pass up Tío’s cooking, that’s my motto.” Richard’s tone was reverent. “And he’s making Crawfish Étouffée.”

  “Hmmm,” I said, thinking out loud. “Too bad we can’t send him into Manning’s house under the guise of being the new chef.”

  “Liana, you behave yourself.” Mom shot me a warning glance.

  “Kidding, only kidding,” I said.

  But was I? Dennis Manning only three blocks away and in need of a private chef. What were the odds?

  Chapter Nineteen

  It’s All In How You Present Yourself

  “Are you ready, Tío?”

  I adjusted the white Dodin cap on my head, which looked like one of those upside-down paper cups you put inside a cupcake-baking pan, only bigger. That and my pristine, white jacket were perfect. My outfit had been obtained courtesy of Tío’s pal, Slavio, from the hospital’s kitchen after a fast call. I also wore my reading glasses as a bit of a disguise, even though they made me squint.

  “Now just follow my lead.”

  I looked over at my uncle. Tall and elegant, he was also dressed in one of his own spiffy white chef uniforms, minus the toque. That would have been overkill. He did, however, bring along his chef knives. No chef worth his or her salt travels without them. They were encased in his black canvas eighteen-piece knife case, complete with a full accessory compartment.

  Experience has taught me that in the game of pretend, wearing the right costume goes a long way to making whomever believe whatever it is you want them to believe. Standing before the double-doors of the Samuel Randolph mansion was a master chef and his sous-chef applying for the recently advertised position.

  It had taken everything I had or could think of to talk the family into doing this. By seven-thirty we were set. The Étouffée had been set on a back burner for consumption when we returned later.

  The rain still fell, but it was completely dark, save any light coming from the porch and landscaping. I didn’t hear a dog, but figured it was off duty and in its doghouse, trying to stay dry. I lowered the mammoth umbrella I held over us and dropped it into the outdoor umbrella stand when one of the doors swung open. A gaunt-looking man in his early thirties and dressed completely in black, stared at us in outright disbelief as we stood there in all our sparkling white beauty.

  “What the…” His jaw dropped open and he froze in place, the door half opened.

  “Good evening.” I all but chirped. “My name is Margaret Lee. Please allow me to introduce to you Chef Manuel Rodriguez.”

  I thrust a lengthy résumé into one of his hands, printed out by Richard from online, very impressive in its looks and content. My uncle stood silently beside me with a noble but grim look on his face. I prattled on with a big smile.

  “We are here for the eight p.m. interview with Mr. Randolph for the position of private chef to the household. I’m Chef Manuel’s interpreter, as well as his sous-chef. While he is the chef extraordinaire, as I’m sure you know from having read articles about him, he --”

  “Well, no, no. I hadn’t. I haven’t read…” The man stuttered, but continued to gape. “What?”

  “Chef Manuel’s English skills are not on the same level as his cooking, so he relies upon me totally.” I went on.

  “Si,” Tío put in, pointing to himself. “Solamente Español.”

  “What?” Completely thrown, the man looked down at the resume then around him, as if hoping to conjure up someone who knew what was going on.

  I continued to beam. Tío continued to look regal and important.

  “Wait a minute.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know anything about this. I need to check. I don’t even think Mr. Randolph is here.” His eyes kept flitting from place to place, as if Samuel Randolph might materialize at any moment and straighten this out or take over. “I don’t…you need to…I’ll go see…”

  “You do that.” I used my most soothing voice. “And meanwhile, Chef Manuel and I will check out the kitchen to see if it’s up to his standards. The kitchen would be where?”

  I pushed my way inside followed by Tío, and looked around at the massive living room, done in shades of industrial grey and white marble. I’ve seen warmer-looking mausoleums.

  With a shaky hand the man in black pointed in the direction of a chrome dining room. While he tottered off looking for someone in the know, Tío and I scurried through the glossy but boring dining room and into the kitchen.

  Dressed more like a maid in training than kitchen staff, a young woman, still probably in her teens, was attempting to make coffee from an espresso machine. After some unsuccessful attempts, she didn’t seem to know which buttons to push and had already made a mess. She wore the look of someone who wanted to be anywhere but here. Tío took over.

  “¡Con permiso!” His voice was gracious, but authoritative. He relieved her of the duty with a smile. With expert hands he wiped up the spilled milk and coffee grounds and filled the carafe with water from the sink, proceeding to set the espresso machine up for use.

  “Thank you, sir.” Her voice was filled with relief and gratitude. “I really am supposed to be doing laundry now.”

  “Then you go right ahead,” I said.

  She seemed to notice me for the first time. I smiled brightly and she opened a door going into a long hallway, disappearing as she closed the door behind her.

  Tío and I were alone and we both looked around. The stainless steel kitchen had all the modern conveniences and while it resembled a morgue in every way except for the dead bodies, it could serve the purpose of getting out a decent meal.

  “Tío, you stay here and do what you can to look busy, while I check the place out. If I can find either of the Mannings or what they’re up to, so much the better.”

  “And you will do what when you find them?” The challenge in Tío’s voice surprised me, because we had already been through this. “You will do nun
ca. Remember, you promise not to make the unwise gesture. You are on their tierra, mi sobrina. Cuidado.”

  “I’ll be careful, Tío, but Manning took off earlier today in such a rush, I have to know why. Something tells me it’s important. Also, I’d like to know if he’s still here. There’s been talk about him doing a bunk.”

  “Bunk? Bunk? What is this bunk?”

  “Leave. Flee. Run away. He might be gone already. But I’m not here to make any trouble, just to have a look-see. We’ll be in and out, just like the burger.”

  I opened the door to the hallway the maid had vanished through. While I had noticed a marble staircase leading up to the second floor off the living room, I knew there had to be a back staircase used by staff. My search for it didn’t take too long. I heard a washing machine spinning and peeked inside the laundry room next to the narrow staircase. With her back to me, the young maid was taking clothes out of the dryer and folding them with a concentration on the task I could only think of as commendable. It’s all I can do to keep from falling into a deep sleep during something like that. The washing machine was going with another load and the noise covered my actions. On little cat feet, I checked out a small bedroom, probably hers, a door leading to the backyard and one leading to the garage. Other than the girl, there was no one else around.

  I took the carpeted stairs up to the second floor landing as quietly as possible, opened the door to the second floor hall, and looked both ways. No one was around, but I heard muffled voices coming from one of the rooms near the front staircase. I tiptoed down the hall and saw a sleek, modern office with a long desk holding a computer, printer and fax machine. Behind were black wall-to-wall bookshelves holding more sculpture and artwork than books. Done mostly in dark grey furnishings, a corner of the room held a mottled grey sofa and wing back chair facing a humongous TV hanging on a wall. The TV was on, a racecar derby or some such thing running in the background.

  Two men were in earnest conversation, one of them being my guy in black. The other guy wore a grey suit so like the sofa; he blended into it with the exception of his skin color. I couldn’t understand what they were saying due to the droning sounds of the racing cars. But I surmised by both men’s expressions I had limited time.