by Jan Coffey
“Oh, that look.” Sarah hazarded another glance at him. “Isn’t it?”
“That’s what you got me for, love. I’m just here to try to hold it up until you can get out from under. Just call me Atlas.”
She tried to swallow the tennis ball that suddenly formed in her throat. “If you say one more nice thing like that to me, I may just cry, you know.”
“Really?” His gaze shifted to her, but as his hand touched her cheek, something in his peripheral vision snapped his head around.
“Bingo! Here he is.”
“Who?” Sarah followed the direction of Owen’s gaze and saw the dark green BMW pulling into the visitor’s lot.
“Put your glasses on. Get out of the car and walk up toward the corner. Stay away from where he is parking. Quick, Sarah!”
She did exactly as he bid her. Walking as casually as she could between the rows of cars, she kept an eye on the BMW. Before she could reach the edge of the lot, the lawyer pulled into a spot near her.
Sarah felt the panic prickle along her spine. If Rosen even glanced her way, he might recognize her. Before she could change direction, she saw the lawyer climb from behind the wheel.
But his attention was not on her. She watched Rosen pulling something out of the backseat. A baby’s car seat.
“Scott. Scott Rosen.”
Owen’s shout confused Sarah even more. She stopped between two cars, pretending to be looking for something in her purse. The hood of Owen’s car was up.
“Glad I ran into someone I know. I was just checking on Tracy, and I come back to find the battery on my car is dead. I have to be downtown in ten minutes for an important meeting, otherwise I would call in for service, but I’m running so late…”
Sarah continued out toward the street. She went all the way to the corner before turning around. Looking back at the parked cars, she was shocked to see Owen getting into Rosen’s BMW as the rangy lawyer hurried toward the hospital entrance, carrying the car seat under one arm.
Immediately, she hurried back to Owen’s car. Before she got there, the BMW had been parked in front of the Range Rover. The hoods of both cars were raised and Owen was pulling some cables out the back of his own car.
“What are you doing?” she called quietly, coming up to the car.
“Playing with wires.” He waved the jump-start cables in her direction. “Rosen’s briefcase is on the backseat. While I try to ruin these two cars in under five minutes, why don’t you check inside the case and see if any of your files are in there.”
“What if he locks his briefcase?” she complained, diving into the backseat. Pulling the thing onto her lap, her fears were immediately confirmed.
“Hurry, Sarah! He is coming back down with his wife and baby in a couple of minutes, and I’m supposed to have the keys back at the receptionist’s desk in the lobby by the time they come down.”
She looked more closely at the combination lock and found the last of the three dials caught between two numbers. She adjusted it to one number. When that failed, she clicked it the dial back to the next digit.
The locks snapped open.
“A car is coming.” Owen called.
Sarah’s heart raced, her fingers flying as she leafed through the layers of files and papers in the man’s briefcase.
Two more cars pulled into the lot.
“Christ, it’s a party.” Owen added before getting behind his own wheel and starting his car.
“I have them.” Just as she began pulling her own files out of the lawyer’s suitcase, the one below them caught her attention. It was also from their own office, and it had Hal’s name on it. Glancing quickly inside, she saw a letter addressed to Judge Arnold. The letterhead was from a private investigation firm out of Providence. She took that file, as well, and shut the briefcase again, adjusting the last lock digit to where it had been before. Moving out of Rosen’s car and into the Range Rover, she saw Owen pick up the wires that he’d pretended to use, and throw them into the backseat.
“I’ll be right back. Lock the doors.”
Every inch of her body hummed with the excitement. She locked the doors as he’d told her and watched him drive Rosen’s car to an empty spot. A second later, Owen was jogging across the lot to the hospital with the keys in his hand.
Her fingers itched to open the files. But her heart was drumming wildly and she couldn’t tear her eyes off the door he’d disappeared into.
The sound of sirens swiveled her attention toward the road. An emergency rescue vehicle and a police car rounded the building and headed for the emergency entrance. Sarah’s gaze snapped back to the visitor’s entrance.
“Please, Owen. Please…”
The sight of him stepping out of the building, unharmed and alone, filled her with unexpected joy. She bit her lip, trying to contain her excitement as he hurried to the car.
“Well? Anything?”
Instead of an answer, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his flushed face before pulling back.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For coming back.” Her emotions were getting the better part of her. She quickly opened up the top file on her lap. “Sorry, I haven’t looked at them yet.”
He took a hold of her chin and lifted her face. She saw the tenderness in his gaze.
“We’ll have lots of time later. Now get to work.”
“Yes, sir,” she quipped, focusing her attention on the paperwork in her lap. Owen started the engine, then headed for the lot exit.
“You do know that Rosen will figure out you’ve taken the files before the morning is over,” she said as they drove down the street. “I don’t think he’s going to take too kindly to people going through his briefcase.”
“Yeah. Maybe I should call that flower shop back and have the card on the flowers addressed to Scott Rosen and not to his wife.”
“Go ahead and joke,” she said seriously, “but Rosen is known as a man who goes for the throat.”
Chapter 28
Compared to the steady string of stories about homicides, stabbings and forced teenage prostitution that had lately been gracing the pages of the local newspapers, the Sunday night fire at the Newport storage facility didn’t stir much interest among the prisoners at the state’s Adult Correctional Institution. Judge Charles Hamlin Arnold, though, had a personal stake in this latest disaster.
He’d first heard the report during dinner. Afterward, listening to the radio, he’d heard an interview with a couple of the firefighters. They had been pretty impressed with the intensity of the fire and the accompanying explosions. Sitting alone in his cell, the judge considered what he might have lost in the fire. The firefighter’s comments had told him to fear the worst.
The tape had surely been destroyed.
The noose around his neck was getting tighter. Time was running short.
The preliminary hearing on the murder case was scheduled to take place in two days. But at this point, having the case ordered to go to trial was the least of the judge’s problems. In fact, if he didn’t start doing something about it right now, he wouldn’t live long enough to stand trial. He’d be killed within these walls.
A couple of inmates at the Intake Service Center had come suspiciously close to him this morning. Another, sitting at the next table during breakfast, had never taken his eyes off him. Scum.
From his bench on the other side of the walls and barbed wire, Judge Arnold had watched the failings of the penal system for too many years. He was well aware of the power structures that were allowed to exist inside these places. Murders and drug-dealing and racketeering and money laundering were as common in here as they were on the outside. More common.
And so were contract hits.
The judge wondered if there were a way he could find out if there was a price on his head already. He could make a better deal. Pay more. Make the pot more lucrative in exchange for a little protection from the same people.
But then
again, maybe not. As a former judge, he’d put more than a few of these dirtbags in here. It was always said that in Rhode Island, all it took was a dime for the phone call to have somebody erased.
Walking to the stainless sink and turning on the water to wash his hands and face, Arnold thought of the more ambitious plan that had been forming in his head for the past few days. Hell, what did he have to lose?
Calling the guard, he asked him to call Ike Bosler’s office for him. He wanted a private meeting with the district attorney, and he wanted it this morning.
~~~~
Steele drained his third cup of coffee before walking to the window, drawing the blinds, and staring impatiently at the parking lot across the street.
“It’s no big deal if he doesn’t bring the stuff back today, Evan.” Linda chirped from her position by the file cabinets. “I have plenty here to keep me busy.”
“I thought Rosen would be punctual, at least.”
“Give the guy a break. He had a baby on Saturday morning. His wife is probably coming home today.” There was laughter in her voice. “I know he doesn’t seem like the affectionate type, but his kind usually falls the hardest.”
The blinds fell with a distinct snap.
The woman turned to him with surprise. “You look just too tired. Why don’t you go home and get a couple of hours sleep.”
He shook his head. “I need you to run an errand for me this morning. It’s actually for the office. I was going to ask Rosen to do it, but since he is not coming…”
Linda cast a mournful glance at the stacks of files she’d organized at her desk. “Is it something that needs to be done? I mean, this is the only day this week that I was planning to be here, and I have these things to get to…and with so many phone calls and everyone looking for this and that…”
“Yes, it needs to be done now.” His tone was sharper than it should have been and he immediately got her attention.
She dropped the files in her hands unceremoniously on the desk and stood up. “All right. What is it?”
“I need you to carry some information to the police station for me. The stuff has—”
The ring of his cell phone brought Steele up short, and he answered it immediately.
“Hi Evan. It’s Sarah.”
“Hold on a minute.” He took his empty coffee mug and, ignoring Linda’s curious looks, headed toward the kitchenette. Once there, he turned on the water for some background noise. “Are you on your way?”
“I think I found what I was looking for.”
“Where? What is it?” His voice rose. He walked to a corner of the kitchen, the running water totally forgotten.
“I’ll call you back when I know more.”
“Where are you, Sarah?”
“I’ll call you back.”
He could hear traffic in the background. “Are you going to the police?”
“Yes. Not the local police. But I’m handing myself in today.”
“Sarah—”
“I have to go, Evan. I’ll promise to call you as soon as I can.”
“Sarah—”
The phone disconnected at the other end.
“What did you say?”
Steele turned abruptly and found Linda standing in the doorway to the kitchen. The woman’s face was pale.
“Who were you talking to, Evan?”
He considered his options for a long moment before making up his mind. Resigned to the inevitable, he tucked the cell phone back into his pocket and met the office manager’s gaze.
“I was talking to Sarah,” he said, moving toward her. “Yes. She’s alive.”
~~~~
“You still have to explain to me why we had to go through all that, when we could have just walked into my offices later and found the same thing.”
Owen shrugged. “Call it actor’s intuition, or better yet, call it actor’s training. It’s all about understanding character. If I were Rosen and my wife were coming home with a baby, there’s no way would I bother returning those files today. And aren’t you glad we did?”
Sarah put the phone down and picked up the envelope again. She turned it over, studying the sealed edge.
“Are you sure this is it?” Owen asked, trying to maneuver the car through the traffic and, at the same time, keep an eye on her.
“It has to be.” She turned the letter over again. “Hotel stationary. Fairly old. Look how it has yellowed along the edges.”
“Maybe it’s Rosen’s. He could have stuffed it in there by mistake.”
“He could have,” she admitted. “But this is Judge Arnold’s handwriting on the front. Philadelphia, September 10, 1982, 1 of 2.”
“Rosen is the judge’s lawyer.”
She looked down at the open file on her lap. She picked up the legal pad where the envelope had been hidden. “I was using this pad of paper when I was moving the items from Avery’s safe-deposit boxes. Here are some of the notes I took that day.” She turned the pad in her hands. “I must have laid it down and the envelope somehow slipped in between the pages.”
“Open it.” He gave her an encouraging nod. “It’s the only way to find out.”
“If this is evidence of some crime, we could be charged with tampering and obstruction and Lord knows what else. Archer’s forensic people would flip.” She stared ahead for a second. “But of course, this could just be a hotel receipt, and we’d look like real fools handing it over.”
He pulled the car into the empty parking lot of a church. He locked the doors, but left the car running.
“Open it, Sarah.”
Her hand shook and her heart raced as she opened the sealed flap. Inside, there was a single folded piece of stationary and she pulled it out. This paper, too, was discolored a little from what she assumed was age. She opened the note. The same hotel’s elegant letterhead and two lines of script in Judge Arnold’s handwriting were the only thing on the page.
Sarah read aloud the first line, which was nothing but a series of numbers. The second line, though, caused her brow to furrow.
“Strawberry Mansion Bridge?”
“That’s a bridge in Philadelphia.” Owen said. “It goes over the Schuylkill River in Fairmount Park. Do you know what the first line of numbers means?”
She stared at the numbers for a moment before it hit her.
“Yes,” she said excitedly. “It’s a specific location in our dead files.”
She glanced at the back of the envelope again and the inscription “1 of 2.”
“I wonder if that’s where ‘2 of 2’ is.”
“Where do you keep the dead files?”
“In a storage facility here in Newport. We can start there. I have the code to get into the outside fenced-in area, and I have the key to the unit itself.”
They were out of the lot as soon as she gave him directions to the facility.
“But why all the secrecy?” she murmured to herself. “And what’s the significance of the date? September 10, 1982.”
“Was Arnold a judge by then?”
She thought back. “No. He had just gone out on his own around then. Arnold and Rutherford were law partners for a few years, until Rutherford won his seat in the Senate.” She shook her head. “No, in September of 1982, they would still have been partners…although Gordon must have already won the primary by then. Yes, that was the year that Rutherford won his first election. November of 1982.”
She stared at the letter in her hand again.
“The rest of the answer to this must be in this part two. And whatever it is, it’s probably been sitting in those dead files for as long as this envelope sat in that safe-deposit box.”
“Christ.”
Sarah’s head lifted and she looked past the fenced perimeter at the storage facility. Or what was left of it.
“Looks like they beat us to it again.” Owen snapped.
~~~~
Scott pulled into the last available spot in the parking lot. He left the car and the air conditi
oner running. He turned to Lucy. “It won’t take me more than five minutes.”
“We’ll be here.” She turned and leaned into the back seat to look at the baby, secure in the infant car carrier.
Though Lucy had told him that his daughter was not very sensitive to noise, Scott was quiet as a mouse as he took his briefcase out of the back seat. With a smile at his wife, he hurried across the street toward the office building.
He had a key for the outside door. From there, he took the steps three at a time to the second floor. He tapped once on the doors to the offices. Waiting for Steele to open up, Scott balanced the briefcase on one knee and reached inside of it for the files. The stack that greeted him seemed much thinner, but before he could inspect it more closely, the door opened and he looked up to see the pallid face of the office manager staring out at him. Red-rimmed eyes and splotches on her cheeks made it obvious that the woman had been crying.
“What’s wrong, Linda?”
At his question, fresh tears burst forth again, surprising him. “It’s…I can’t believe it. I don’t like people pulling my leg, but if it’s true…I just don’t know.”
She made no sense, and Scott followed her inside.
“What’s going on?” He demanded, dropping his briefcase on a chair.
“This call.” She wiped at her eyes. “It could have been a crank call…but…”
Scott found himself losing his patience. “Who called?”
“Sarah.” The woman turned to him. “Sarah Rand called. She called Evan Steele, told him that she is alive.”
Scott felt every muscle in his body go rigid. “Where is Steele?”
“He just left. A minute ahead of you. He was going home to shower and change. He said he had to decide if this was a crank call or if it was real. He’s coming back soon, he said.” She balled up the tissue. “I think we should call the police right now. Let them do what they need to do. They can trace the call, or whatever.”
Linda continued to talk, but Scott had already started pacing the room, his mind racing with what could be the ruin of everything. He stopped abruptly before the office manager.
