The Bourbon Brotherhood

by F J messina

40

  It took Sonia’s heart quite a while to settle down after leaving Carl Rasmussen’s home. The toughest part of the trip had been smiling at the security guard as she left the property, knowing full well that in a few minutes the police would be coming to ask him questions about anyone who might have been involved in setting off the alarm at Rasmussen’s home.

  Sonia turned into the parking lot at Magee’s, slipped out of her car, and headed for her office. As she reached the bottom of the wooden stairs, however, she had another thought. It would take a strong cup of coffee to settle her nerves after this morning. She stepped into Magee’s and walked toward Hildy’s smiling face. For once, the notion of eating an almond croissant really didn’t appeal.

  Coffee in hand, Sonia marched up the steps to her office and sat at her desk. Plugging in her thumb drive, she pulled three files onto the computer’s desktop and then into some decryption software she had downloaded long ago. She picked up her phone and pressed the CALL icon next to the pretty face with the ever-present ponytail.

  “Lordy. Is that you checking up on us, Ms. Sonia?” Jet’s accent was in full bloom.

  “Not checking up. Checking in. Where are you two?”

  Jet’s accent disappeared. “Well, I sat in the Rasmussen Company parking lot until Missy arrived. When she took off about an hour later, I had Tee follow her. Apparently, she checks in on some of the bigger work sites, so we’ve had to switch off twice already. What about you?”

  “I’ve managed to get my hands on three files that may give us a clearer picture of Missy Charles’ motives and plans.”

  “And where did you get those files?”

  Sonia finally took a sip of her coffee, then answered. “From Carl’s computer.”

  “And how did you get files from Carl’s computer? Did you go and lie to that nice German lady again, tell her you were with the company?”

  Sonia sat up taller and raised her chin. “Actually, I did not.” She paused. “Okay. I was going to do that, but it turned out that Frieda wasn’t there. Anyway, I broke into the house with the lock picks that Brad taught me to use. I got to the computer and found those files. They’re encrypted, so I’m running them through some software on my computer now. I’m hoping we’ll learn everything we need to know about Missy’s plans from one or more of those files.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “It’s going to take a while. And while I’m sitting around waiting for it, all I’ll be able to hear in my mind is the clock ticking and a little cuckoo bird popping out of his box, chirping, “Day Five, Day Five, Day Five.” She sighed. “Meanwhile, I’m afraid we’re really not going to be able to lock this thing down until we understand one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  Sonia ran her fingers through her hair. “Look. We’ve got the encrypted files from Missy Charles. I’m all but certain it could be her, or someone she hired, who stuck Victor in that barrel of bourbon. She went to Carl’s house. She deleted files from Carl’s computer. We know she thinks she can run the business better than Victor or the son. She had the motive, and as soon as we see those decrypted files, I’m telling you, we’re going to see that it’s her. But the first thing we’re going to be asked when we report that to Mason Holiday is how she did it. How did she kill him? How did she get him into that barrel? And right now, I think the only one who can give us any help with that is John O’Neal out at Horatio Blevins.”

  “The guy who runs the place.”

  “Right.”

  “So, are you going to go see him?”

  “Absolutely, but I’d like to take Tee with me. I’d like as many eyes as possible out there looking for . . . well, for whatever.”

  “Sure. I can stay on Missy myself unless something else breaks.”

  “Thanks so much, lady. Tell Tee to get over to the office as soon as possible. We’re running out of time.”

  Sonia could hear Jet snort. “Not as quickly as Missy Charles is, not with you on her tail.”

  Brad sat in his car, wondering how long it would be before Zeke Bartley made an appearance. There was no question in his mind that Zeke was the one who had killed Victor. He rubbed his chin. Hell, he admitted it to Gabriela last night. Unfortunately, Brad no longer had the official capacity he’d enjoyed as an NCIS agent, he couldn’t just barge into Zeke’s room and arrest him. In fact, given the complications that had arisen from the non-disclosure agreement Sonia and Jet had signed, there were some significant problems with him even calling the police. Brad tapped out his frustration on the ‘Vette’s steering wheel. What would I say? I’ve got a guy here who has admitted to killing the guy you didn’t even know was murdered? Nope, I’ve got to have more than that.

  Brad took out his phone and dialed Gabriela’s phone number. “Gabriela. It’s Brad.”

  “Sí. Having fun sitting in the parking lot?” There was a certain snarkiness in her voice.

  “Yeah, yeah. Just like you did last night. I’m just guessing, though, that you used some tequila or something to help the time slide by. I’m stuck with coffee.”

  “Well, then, mi amigo, maybe you should have been the one who sat with Zeke in the bar and got invited back to his room.”

  “No, thank you, ma’am.” He laughed. “Not my cup of tea. In fact, probably not his either.” Brad heard a tiny chuckle at the other end of the line. “So, listen. I’m sitting here thinking we need more to go on than just Zeke’s confession. Let’s face it, all he has to do is deny saying anything to you.”

  “Sí.”

  “And come to think of it, when you tell the police you picked the guy up in the bar and took him back to his room . . . well, I’m not sure they’re going give anything you say any credence. In fact, they may be wondering how you make your living.”

  “Hmm.”

  “So, this is what I need you to do. I need you to call Zeke at the motel. They’ll connect you. Tell him you want to meet him for coffee, sometime real soon.”

  “But I’m getting ready to go to work.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Just pick a place that he’ll be able to find, but something that’s not too close. All I need is to get him out of the room. You don’t actually have to meet him. Just get him out of there. I’ll take care of the rest. But listen, find some phone other than your own to use. I don’t want him to be able to track you down sometime in the future.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line for a few moments. Then Gabriela answered. “It will be my pleasure.” The line went dead.

  A few minutes later, Brad’s phone pulsed. He had a text. Looking at his phone, he saw it was from Sonia. QUITE CERTAIN MISSY IS OUR KILLER. FOUND 3 ENCRYPTED FILES ON CARL’S COMPUTER. DECODING IN PROCESS. ON MY WAY TO HORATIO BLEVINS FACILITY.

  Brad gave his phone a funny look. “Oh, really?” he said out loud. “I don’t think so, sweetheart.” He let out a big breath. “Oh, well. I’m not telling her she’s wrong in a text.”

  “Yeah. Hello.”

  “Zeke?” Gabriela was sitting on her bed, looking at herself in the mirror.

  “Yeah?”

  “This is Gabriela.”

  A moment went by. “Yeah?”

  She gently pushed the mascara brush into its tube, then drew it out and worked on her left eyelashes while she held the phone between her shoulder and her ear. “I was thinking of you.”

  “Oh yeah? Then why were you gone when I woke up in the middle of the night?”

  She switched to the other eye. “Zeeeke? Do you think I call you so you could give me problems?”

  “I guess not. But where the hell were you?”

  “Goodbye, Zeke.”

  “No, wait. Wait a minute.”

  She put the brush back in the mascara tube and twisted it closed. She reached for a tissue. “Will you be nice, Zeke?

  “Yeah. Okay. So, what do you want?”

  “Zeke. I’d like to see you, you know, in the daylight.” She wiped some excess mascara from below her left eye.
“Do you think that you would like to come and join me for a cup of coffee somewhere?”

  “Why don’t you just come to my room?”

  “Zeke, if I wanted to come to your room, you would be hearing me knock on your door right now. Can you hear me knocking, Zeke?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Then meet me at the coffee place on North Lime near East sixth street. It’s called North Limestone Donuts or something like that. I’ll be there in ten minutes, gone in thirty. Goodbye, Zeke.”

  Brad was not surprised when, a few minutes later, he saw Zeke Bartley emerge from his motel room. Not having seen him before, Brad was taken by the ruggedness of the man in the denim shirt, jeans, and work boots. Yeah, that’s a man that could take a soft business guy down, for sure. From what Brad could tell, Zeke hadn’t taken time for a shower and shave before leaving to meet Gabriela.

  Brad watched Zeke walk to his pick-up, climb in, and drive away. He was wasting no time, and certainly, Brad felt, wasn’t at all interested in the dark blue Corvette sitting at the other end of the parking lot.

  As soon as Zeke left, Brad slipped out of his car and walked nonchalantly to Zeke’s motel room door. After years as an NCIS agent, and given the flimsiness of the door’s lock, it took Brad less than fifteen seconds to get into the room. The dampness and musty smell of the room struck him as he entered. Even Gabriela’s perfume, lingering from the night before, had lost its appeal when mixed with the room’s ambient odors.

  Brad wasted no time admiring the furnishings. Taking gloves out of his back pocket, he went first to the drawers in the dresser, then to the closet. He knew those were the least likely places to find some hidden piece of evidence, but he had learned over the years that some criminals were simply dumber than a box of rocks, putting things in places where even a novice investigator could find them.

  Having found nothing of interest in the dresser or closet, Brad was not the least bit surprised when he looked into Zeke’s duffel bag and saw a Colt Python 357 Magnum revolver. He pulled the gun out of the bag. With its four-inch barrel, it was a hefty piece of hardware and one that could do serious damage. Brad spun the cylinder. Wow, no wonder Ephraim mentioned Zeke’s pistol. A gun like this would have special meaning for a man, make him feel invincible.

  It struck Brad that Zeke must have shot Victor in the chest or back, or maybe even in the stomach. Not being willing to tamper with evidence, he hadn’t seen Victor’s body. Nonetheless, he was certain that if Victor had been shot in the head with that weapon, the men who had looked down and seen Victor’s face floating in bourbon would have certainly mentioned that there wasn’t much left of that face.

  Brad lifted the gun to his nose. It was a habit he had developed over the years. As he thought about it, however, he realized that Victor had probably been shot at least a week ago. That was too long for the smell of cordite to be significantly obvious on the weapon. He would just have to wait for the police to be brought into the investigation. They would pull the body, and now, at least, they would have a gun to compare ballistics on.

  Brad poked around the room for a few minutes then took the gun with him as he left. Fully aware that taking it might be considered tampering with evidence, he was more concerned with trying to keep Zeke from completing his mission. Not sure the bastard can’t get his hands on another one, but I sure as hell don’t want him coming at me with this baby.

  41

  Around one forty-five, Sonia drove down the picturesque road that led to the Horatio Blevins Distillery. Parking right in front of the lovely visitors’ building, Sonia and Tee stepped inside, Sonia asking one of the guides to direct her to John O’Neal’s office. Frustrated, she was told that he was in a meeting and wouldn’t be available until at least two-thirty.

  As she waited for O’Neal’s meeting to end, Sonia kept fighting off the feeling that time was slipping away from her. Confident that she would find something incriminating in the files she had gotten from Carl’s computer, she was still uncertain she would have enough on Missy Charles to be able to bring the case to Mason Holiday. He needed more than conjecture and incriminating files. If he was going to go to the police and shut the case down so fast that it wouldn’t damage Kentucky’s bourbon industry, he needed proof.

  Finally, right at two thirty-five, things got rolling. Sonia and Tee were escorted into O’Neal’s office. “Have a seat, ladies.” O’Neal’s long arm stretched out in the direction of the two leather chairs that sat a few feet in front of his massive, oak desk. Sonia noted that this was yet another wood-centric bourbon official’s office. She felt the oak arm of her chair under her fingertips. Bourbon. Corn and water and wood. Corn and water and wood. She sat taller in her chair and ran her fingers through her hair. “Well, Mr. O’Neal─”

  He smiled. “John.”

  Sonia started. “Okay, John. I know you must have thought about this long and hard, but I just have to ask. Is there anyone on your staff who has, or I should say had, any kind of connection with Victor Rasmussen?”

  O’Neal’s answer came quickly. “You’re right. I’ve thought and thought about that, but the answer is no. Not that I can think of. And trust me. I’ve gently asked around, you know, among my staff. Nothing.”

  Sonia was not surprised by the answer. “So, then, let me ask you this. Somehow, someone got into your facility and plopped Victor Rasmussen into one of your barrels. Do you have any idea how that person or persons got access to your facility?”

  O’Neal’s face lowered just slightly. When he spoke, however, he looked directly into Sonia’s eyes. “Listen. I’d love to tell you that it was some sort of magic, that no one can get in here without our knowing about it. But it’s just not true. Sure, we have security, but we also have a long-standing staff that we trust. Over the years, so many different people have needed to know codes for one reason or another—people who work here now—people who used to work here. And there’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t worm those codes out of one of our unsuspecting workers. Lord knows how many people could sneak in here at night.” He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Oh, I know. We’ve got to deal with that issue and we will. Unfortunately, right now, as concerns Rasmussen, I just can’t help you with any information about how somebody got in here and when.”

  Sadly, Sonia knew she simply had to accept O’Neal’s answer. She moved on. “John, we’ve spoken to everyone on Mason Holiday’s list that he marked as crucial. I should tell you that at this point, we have a pretty good idea of who is responsible for Victor Rasmussen’s death. But I’m not sure I want to share my thoughts with you until I have solid proof. Still, I was wondering if you had anything at all you wanted to add.”

  O’Neal looked at her, quiet, calm. “Actually, I’ve spoken with Mason as well. I’m pretty much aware of everything you’ve learned from the gentlemen of the bourbon brotherhood, and I can’t say that I have anything important to add. What I’d like to know from you is if you learned anything from Ephraim and Ezekiel Bartley.”

  Sonia instinctively glanced briefly at Tee, then turned back to O’Neal. “Actually, we have learned a few things about the Bartley’s, but I’m afraid that’s something else I’ve got to keep confidential for just a little longer.”

  O’Neal sat forward, leaning his forearms on his desk. “Ms. Vitale. I do understand that there are certain protocols in your profession,” his voice was soft but strong, “protocols you feel obliged to adhere to. But let me remind you. We’re paying your firm a lot of money to conduct this investigation and we want to know what kind of progress you’re making.” He leaned even further forward, a dark firmness setting on his face. “Need I remind you that our contract ends at nine o’clock this evening?”

  Sonia sat taller, unconsciously trying to match John’s intensity. “Yes, sir. I do know that. However, I really can’t say anything that might imply that someone is guilty until I know, for a fact, that they are.”

  O’Neal’s face tightened, his eyebrows loweri
ng. “And there’s nothing you can tell us?”

  Sonia tried to sound as upbeat as she could. “Actually, I have in my possession some files I believe will make quite clear who the perpetrator is,” she brushed that wisp of hair out of her face, “or, at least, who is behind Victor Rasmussen’s demise.”

  Long moments passed as John O’Neal sat silently, sliding his long, interlocked fingers in and out of each other. He looked first at Sonia, then at Tee, then back again to Sonia. Finally, he scratched the back of his neck. “Have it your way, Ms. Vitale. Just know that I’ll be meeting with Mason Holiday at ten tomorrow morning. Mason will have invited a detective from the Kentucky State police to join us.”

  Sonia interrupted. “The state police? Why not the local police department?”

  “I see your point.” O’Neal nodded as he spoke. “On the one hand, the Woodford County Police Department, as small as it is, would have jurisdiction over the case. And, in fact, would really be scrambling to help protect a major producer located within their jurisdiction. On the other hand,” he gave them a sly smile, “the Kentucky State Police, now, they have a lot more clout than a small local constabulary. We’re thinking we bring them in first and try to get the governor to help give us cover. Then we bring the Woodford County folks in, apologizing for going over their heads.”

  Sonia took in a long breath and nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “Anyway,” O’Neal pushed his rolling chair back from his desk, “that meeting takes place at ten tomorrow. If we can’t button up this case by then, all hell’s going to break loose.” He looked at Tee. “Excuse my French, ma’am.” He turned back to Sonia. “In fact,” he shook his head, “even if we can close the case for them, things are still going to be pretty rugged when this gets out.”

  Sonia stood, extended her hand. “Mr. O’Neal, you have our word that we will do everything humanly possible to bring this to a conclusion by nine o’clock this evening,” she glanced briefly at Tee, then back to O’Neal, “certainly by ten tomorrow morning.”