by F J messina
Brad pushed, just a little. “Come on now. Don’t be coy with me. I’ll bet he’s a good-looking boy and I’ll prove it to you.”
Sherry pulled back and furrowed her brows. “How?”
“I’ll bet you’ve got a picture of him somewhere right here in this café.” She didn’t respond. “Well, you do, now, don’t you?”
Sherry waggled, the universal sign for, “Well, you’ve got me.”
“Come on now. You go get that picture and show it to me, Sherry.”
It was the first time he had used her name, though it was clearly displayed on her name-tag. The sudden shift in intimacy sent a rose-colored flush across her face. She took a deep breath. “Okay. Give me just a second. I’ve got to get it out of my purse. It’s in the back.”
Sherry was gone for a few moments. Brad sat pondering. He knew he had opened up lines of communication. He just wasn’t quite sure how to proceed, or for that matter, what he was trying to get.
“Here you go.” Sherry’s smile was in full bloom. She handed him a wallet-sized picture of her son, one that had clearly been in her wallet for several years.
Brad took it and inspected it closely, but just for a moment. “So, your boy’s in high school?”
Sherry chuckled, “Oh, no. He’s twenty-four already. All grown up. He is handsome, isn’t he?”
“He certainly is.” Brad winked at her. “See, I told you I could prove he was good-looking.” He smiled and raised his chin. “And there’s no question he gets those looks from his mom.” Brad paused again. “So, what’s his name again?”
“Carl.” She sighed. “Named after his grandfather. We really didn’t have much choice in that one.” Her smile brightened. “Like I said, we call him Davey.”
“And what’s he do?”
There was another shift in her countenance. Again, the smile stayed steadfast, but the light behind it went out quickly. “He works for his father. They’re in the roofing business, up in Lexington.”
Brad gave her a big smile, hoping to not lose momentum. “Oh, yeah? I’m from Lexington. Maybe I know him. What’s his father’s name?”
“Victor. Victor Rasmussen.” Sherry was clearly doing her best to not seem negative about the man. She was mildly successful.
Brad finished the coffee in his mug. “And that’s the guy that let you slip away.” He made a big show of nodding his head back and forth.
Sherry was quick to go for the coffee carafe. “I guess so.” She gave him a warm smile as she held the carafe up in invitation. “Who knows.” She let out another small sigh. “Things work out for the best.”
Brad took a final sip of his coffee, impressed with the woman’s integrity, especially when he already knew what a low-life Victor was. “Sometimes.” He put his hand over his cup, indicating he was done. “You ever talk to the old man?”
“Once in a rare while.” She put the carafe back on the burner. “Haven’t spoken to him in quite a while.”
“But your son must talk to him almost daily, right? I mean, they work together.”
Sherry turned back to him, smoothing her shirt again, the smile returning to her face. “Not lately. He’s been in the UAE, you know, the United Arab Emirates. He’ll be flying back home Tuesday. Gets in around seven or so, I think.”
Brad cocked his head. “Your son Davey is in the UAE? What’s he doing there?”
Sherry finally leaned against the workstation behind her and crossed her arms. “He’s in Dubai. I guess they’re all about horse racing there. That’s where his dad bought that racehorse that’s done so well for him.”
“His dad has a racehorse, too?”
Sherry’s lips pursed as she tried to smile. “Yes, he’s a very lucky man.”
Brad nodded several times, forcing himself to continue moving slowly. “Wow,” his voice was gentle, “that must be pretty cool for your son. How long has he been over there?”
“I guess it’s almost a month now.” Sherry pushed herself off the counter and started busying herself with cleaning the faucet area under the counter.
“So, I take it he’s over there looking for another horse while your ex stays home working the company?”
Sherry nodded. “Oh, sure. If anything, Victor is always out there trying to make a buck.” She gave Brad a weak smile. “One way or the other.”
Brad began unconsciously tapping the rim of his empty coffee cup with his index finger, thinking that Victor wasn’t always out there trying to make a buck, not anymore. “That doesn’t sound very positive. He wouldn’t get involved in anything illegal, would he?” He got no response. “I mean, he’s not the kind of guy who has to look over his shoulder is he?” He knew he was pressing.
Sherry looked at him as if she were about to say something important. Then, “Are you sure you don’t want any more coffee?”
Brad knew he had pressed too far. He held up his hand. “Oh, no. Probably had too much already.” He gave her a warm smile. “Just hard to pass on such pleasant conversation.” Brad stood up and gave Sherry one last wink. He had a tug in his heart for this warm-hearted woman who had been tossed aside by Victor Rasmussen and had no one to go home to that evening. “No question I’ll remember that this is the right place to stop for lunch next time I make this trip. You have a nice day, Ms. Sherry.” He nodded at her, threw a twenty on the counter, turned and walked out the door. He could feel Sherry’s eyes follow him out into the parking lot.
17
Joe Alexander had driven all through the night—I-35 from San Antonio through Austin and on to Dallas—I-30 from Dallas to Little Rock—ten hours. At five o’clock in the morning, Little Rock was just waking up. Not so for Joe Alexander. Exhausted after ten hours of driving, the wound in his side screaming at him each time he sat up—and each time he didn’t—he knew he needed sleep.
Joe also knew that it was too early to check into a motel room. Too early, that is, for the average traveler. But for him, the timing might be perfect, or so he hoped. Pulling into a Motel Six on West Markham Street, one that described itself on the web as “unpretentious” and cost only forty bucks a night, Joe had a plan that might get him some sleep and at the same time keep him safe.
A voice called out to him the moment he walked into the lobby. “Can I help you, sir?” It had come from a brown-haired young man, rather tall, with a name tag that said, “Bobby,” a shiny smile on his face, and a shiny cross hanging around his neck. The last item did not bode well for Joe.
“Yeah.” Joe realized his voice was scratchy after his long, difficult night. “Ah, I need a room.” He gave the boy a weak smile. “Been driving all night. I know it’s not check-in time yet,” his eyebrows went up, “but maybe you have a room that didn’t get rented last night?”
“Yes, sir. In fact, we do.” Bobby was eager to please. “We can set you up right now. Give you a room for tonight, but let you get an early start, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, yeah. That’ll work. Yeah, great.” Joe was exhausted. His mind was scrambled but he still had to try to figure out how to pull this off.
The shiny smile looked up from his computer. “That’s forty dollars, forty-four eighty with tax. We can put that right on your credit card.”
“Uh, yeah. Listen, how ‘bout I just pay in cash.” He slipped a fifty across the desk. “You just keep the change.”
Bobby hesitated, a sad frown crossing his face. “I’m sorry sir. You can pay in cash, but I still have to run your card. In fact, we’ll be putting an additional twenty-five dollars on it to cover incidentals.” The smile came back. “But don’t worry. That will all come off within twenty-four hours after you check out.”
Joe took a deep breath. “Yeah, sure. Okay. But,” he slipped another fifty across the desk, “what if I promise to be out by check-out time. Eleven, right? Could we just keep this between ourselves?”
The look on Bobby’s face told him all he needed to know. This young man, with his shiny face and his shiny cross, wasn’t going to give
up his eternal salvation for fifty bucks. “You know what? Never mind.” Joe pulled out his wallet and his Visa card. “Just put it all on this.” He didn’t ask for his money back, but he wasn’t surprised when Bobby slid the two fifties across the desk using his fingertips as if the bills were somehow radioactive.
Three minutes later Joe was opening the door to a motel room that looked exactly like every other budget motel room he’d ever seen. Several moments later he’d taken off his suit jacket and flopped, exhausted, onto the not-so-fresh bedspread and slipped immediately into a restless sleep.
A little after three that afternoon, Joe woke up, his mouth dry, his stomach roiling. He hadn’t put anything into it but black coffee since the bourbon he drank with Jane back in San Antonio.
He went to the sink—back of the room, just outside the toilet/shower—next to the open closet space—where it always was—and washed his face. He couldn’t brush his teeth or even run a comb through his hair since he hadn’t brought any luggage into the room. Of course, there was no luggage in his car either. He was on the run.
Looking at himself in the mirror, trying to smooth the wrinkles out of his clothing with nothing but his hands, Joe slipped his now distressed jacket back on. He just had to get something to eat. After that, maybe he’d find some place to buy some new clothing, come back to the room to change the makeshift dressing on his wound, and take off again.
As he stepped out of his room and walked to his car, Joe could see into the main office. What he saw there sent an icy chill down his back. Two men, large, dark clothing, were talking to the middle-aged woman who had taken Bobby’s place. She was gesturing in the general direction of Joe’s room—or maybe she wasn’t. It didn’t matter. Whoever those men were, whatever they were talking to the woman about, the fear that wracked Joe’s body pushed him forward. Head down, he walked directly to the Honda. Slipping behind the wheel, he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, his face turned away from the office. He was on the move. No food, no new clothing, no new dressing. “Damn it to hell.”
18
It was nearly four o’clock on Saturday afternoon before the team gathered in the BCI offices. Sonia could see from their faces that it had been a stressful day for each of them. Brad was the last one to arrive. His smile seemed to warm the room, if not for the others, certainly for her. “I tried to stop downstairs and pick something up for you all,” he opened his empty hands, “but it appears Magee’s closes early on Saturdays.”
Sonia popped out of one of the folding chairs she had set up around their temporary conference table in the center of the waiting room. “Don’t you worry about that, sweets. Ms. Jet, here,” she turned and smiled at Jet, “was knowledgeable enough to know that,” she turned back to Brad, “and kind enough to stop in and get us a four-pack of Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale.” Stepping over to him, she poured the golden-brown liquid into one of their two clear glass beer mugs as she walked.
Brad looked down at the tall, tan head the ale created. He smiled at her but waved her off. “You and Jet take the glasses, babe. Tee and I can drink right out of the bottle.” He turned to Tee. “Right, hotshot?”
Tee returned the smile. “Won’t be the first time today I’ve been asked to have a drink.”
Sonia took Brad by the hand and led him over to the white, plastic table, directing him to the seat next to hers. She was all for professionalism in their relationship, but they didn’t have to act like they weren’t engaged.
“Alrighty, then. Let’s call this thing to order.” It was Jet’s voice taking control, at least temporarily. “I’ve had a long enough day for a Saturday, and I’d like to get on with my own life if that’s okay with the rest of you.” There was a playful smile on her face.
“Sounds like someone’s got plans for the evening.” Sonia smiled and ran her fingers through her hair. “Am I right?”
All eyes turned toward Jet. She cocked her head. “Well,” her voice slipped into that southern belle accent that sometimes drove Sonia crazy, “does it surprise you that a certain gentleman might have asked me to meet him for drinks before dinner tonight?”
“Oh, brother.” Tee was not as accustomed to Jet’s shifting speech patterns as the others.
Jet lifted her eyes to the ceiling and huffed. “Well, I’ve nevah.”
“Okay, ladies.” It was Brad’s rich voice. “I think we’ve probably all got plans for this evening,” he glanced at Sonia, “if work allows, that is. So, let’s get this report over with and see where we stand. Anyone want to go first?”
“Yes,” Sonia sat up and brushed a wisp of hair out of her face, “who would like to go first?” Her chocolate brown eyes caught Brad’s with a silent message. Okay Captain Dunham, let’s remember this is a BCI investigation. Brad gave Sonia a slightly perplexed look. He took a long swig of his drink.
One by one, everyone around the table shared what they had learned. Tee made it clear that Carla Lombardi, Carl Rasmussen’s daughter, had been kicked out of her father’s life along with her mother. She’d had no relationship with her half-brother, Victor Rasmussen, and was probably a dead end in terms of the investigation.
Brad followed, describing Victor’s elderly father, Carl, and the relationship between the two men. He verified Tee’s information about how Carl had treated his first wife and daughter and that Carl hadn’t even mentioned the first wife’s name. He noted that Carl’s second wife, Harriet, had also been sent packing, but not before she gave him the son he wanted, Victor. She was now deceased.
Finally, he shifted gears and spoke about his visit with Victor’s second wife, Sherry, the sweet lady working at the roadside diner. He was convinced that she wasn’t the type to have been involved. In addition, it turned out that their son, Carl David, or Davey as they called him, had been out of the country for almost a month. It was certain that he hadn’t done the deed, at least not personally.
Jet had asked to go last, so Sonia told the group that she had learned little at the James Bennington facility, other than the fact that no one really knew, or wanted to talk about, how Victor Rasmussen was going to bring out a twenty-year-old bourbon on his own, especially when Mason Holliday had made it very clear no one was going to be willing to sell him any aged bourbon to work with. She continued. “The one thing that caught my attention was that Oscar told me how important the yeast is in the process, that they make their own and keep it under lock and key. He told me that if Victor had tried to get his hands on some of that, or even just the recipe, it would have taken an insider’s help.”
Sonia let the group ruminate on those thoughts then turned back to her partner. “Okay, Jet. You’re the only one left. Let’s hear it.”
Jet let a Cheshire-cat grin cross her face. “I’ve only got one thing to say. ” She paused. “Victor Rasmussen is alive.”
A shocked silence filled the room. It was obvious by the look on her face that Jet had gotten the response she expected. “Well, let’s put it this way. The only person who has regular contact with Victor, his business manager, Missy Charles, thinks he’s alive.”
Sonia sat up taller in her chair, as did the others. “Go on.”
Jet’s eyes were sparkling, and it was clear to Sonia that Jet enjoyed being the center of attention. “Okay. So, I really didn’t get much from Missy Charles about reasons why Victor might have been killed,” she gave Sonia a quick look, “or about the twenty-year-old bourbon.” She turned her attention back to Brad and Tee. “But I did find out she thinks he’s,” she made air quotes with her fingers, “ ‘gallivanting around Europe’. I asked her about how the business ran with Victor away, and she said two interesting things. First, she said that she sends him an email every day with questions or information about the business and that he responds by the next morning.”
Tee leaned forward, her forearms on the table. “So, clearly, someone is receiving and answering those emails. How is that possible?” Sonia was glad to see her little sister handling herself so well at t
he meeting.
“Well.” Brad’s voice was enthusiastic. “Looks like whoever did Rasmussen in was able to hack his email account as well.”
“Or . . .” every head turned toward Sonia. “Maybe something much simpler than that. Maybe they just stole his laptop.”
“I agree.” Tee leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Most people don’t bother to keep their email accounts protected. It’s too much of a pain in the butt. I’ll bet if I stole twenty laptops, I could get into fifteen of the owner’s email accounts by simply opening Gmail.”
Jet’s expression made it clear that she was very pleased with herself. “So, this really gives us something to work with, right?”
“Maaaybe.” Brad rubbed his chin between his thumb and his forefinger. “This would be huge if we could track it down to a desktop computer. But if Sonia’s correct and this is coming from his laptop, then the question is whether or not we can tell where a laptop computer is when it sends an email, a real geo-location.”
“Can we?” Tee asked.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I’ll check with my NCIS guys and see what they have to say.”
There was silence around the table for a moment as all four pondered the new information. Then Sonia looked back at Jet. “So, what was the other thing you were going to tell us.”
“What?”
“You said you had two things you wanted to share.”
Jet took a sip of ale out of her glass mug, the large foamy head having long dissipated. “Yeah, Missy said something like, ‘I’ve been his right hand for twenty years. If something happened to him, I could run the whole thing.’ She even implied she might be able to run it better than him.”
“Now that’s interesting.” Brad leaned forward. “Old man Rasmussen made a similar comment as well. He said something that implied she was really running the company now, not Victor.”
Tee furrowed her brows. “You don’t think . . .”
