“But,” said Kyle, “you were the person seeing these, ah . . . shadows . . . and you’re the one that found her remains.”
“I didn’t know that the bones were hers?”
“Exactly,” said Morgana in my defense, “there is a chance that the remains that we buried today are not those of the missing Eddy girl.”
“Well, who else’s can they be?” I said, forgetting for the moment which side of the argument I was on. “The lab people said the DNA tests almost makes it a certainty.”
“‘Makes it probable,’ is what they said,” countered Kyle. “Water does play havoc with DNA. But that leads to another question. How did you ever manage to get the tests done? I mean those experimental DNA tests on the old bones that you found, and then tracking down the DNA sequence. Those types of things are expensive.”
“People owned me favors,” I said sharply. Kyle understood.
Morgana abruptly let go of my arm, “Welcome back, grumpy.”
That was to say that I had returned to my old self again, letting my mouth go off without thinking about people’s feelings. Definitely not a good quality to have, but, sadly, it is one of those things that makes me, me.
“Did you get any sleep last night?” Kyle gingerly asked. “I worry about you.”
To his credit, my brother declined a verbal skirmish, and my leaden heart prevented me from going on the offense. “I slept fine, Kyle. Thanks for asking.”
Hograve came over to me next. “Thank you for negotiating with the government folks about fixing up the place. The work is coming along nicely; it should be finished in a couple of days or so.”
“I should thank you for letting me have that lock of hair and the burial here.”
“I had no problem with it. This spot of land was the Eddy family cemetery. Ariel’s grave is now next to her mother’s. I believe they would both have liked that.”
“I thought so too; that’s why I asked.”
“The real credit should go to the Sheriff,” said Hograve. “He got all the paperwork and special waivers done. He‘s the one we should all thank.”
Kyle beamed in self-satisfaction and said, “I was glad to do it, just doing my job.”
“Yes, we all owe my brother thanks — ” I said. And I meant it.
“Do you want to know a secret?” asked Hograve, stepping closer to me to take me into his confidence. “This burial may put an end to Ariel’s visits.”
“How do you feel about that?” I asked — he appeared troubled.
“Her unannounced pop-ins haven’t always been good for business, if you know what I mean.”
I did.
“The staff . . . they get spooked very easily. But, — ” the innkeeper took a slow deep breath. “I will miss her. I grew up with Ariel, you know. She has been a permanent house guest, in a sense, almost a friend. She was always someone to talk to when you were lonely. Yes, I will miss her.” Hograve brushed his eyes with his fingers. “Oh my, the mist seems to be stinging my eyes.” He quickly brushed away a tear.
“Well, who’s to say? She still may come back,” I clumsily said.
“If she doesn’t, I can’t say the place is haunted anymore.” Hograve forced a chuckle. “That would be bad for Halloween business, but . . . I could live with it. And I know my wife could.” I glanced at Mrs. Hograve, a few feet away from us, who was talking to Consuelo and intermittently giving her husband that look that all wives use to communicate, silently, their strong desire to leave.
I took out the necklace that I found in the cellar from my pocket and presented it to Hograve. “Before we go, this I think belongs to you.”
“Is that the necklace?” The innkeeper respectfully took it from my hand. He studied the treasure, and then with a smile, he gave it back to me. “Considering the circumstances, I think you should keep it.”
I hoped that he would say that, and I thanked him. As Hograve and I ended our chat about Ariel, I watched a black, stretched SUV pull off the inn’s gravel road and park a few yards away from us. Its back door opened and Bo stepped out, and she was heading straight toward me.
“Good morning, all. I’m sorry that I missed the party. How are you doing, Old Sport? Holding up okay, are you?”
With a smile to disguise my annoyance, I said, “Doing just great, thank you.”
“That’s good. I know that you and your ghost friend had a special relationship — ”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, you were the only one that could see your little girlfriend. You even suggested to me that she had, somehow, prevented you and Kyle from being blown to smithereens.”
“But I — ”
“You said that you saw the little ghost. Which means one of two things, either you’re nuts and you didn’t really see her . . . or, you aren’t a flake, and you actually did see her.“
“I — ”
“Now . . . you said that you are fine, and the doctors at the medical center also said that you're fine, so you must be fine. Therefore, Old Sport, you did see her.”
“But what’s your point?”
“My point is that your saw this little ghostie when nobody else could, and that means . . . for whatever reason, you and your ghost friend share a special relationship. There is some type of . . . ah, emotional connection, maybe?” Bo turned to Morgana, “Wouldn’t you say that is a fair conclusion?”
“Yes,” agreed Morgana as she tried to stop herself from giggling.
“Anyway, Old Sport, someone wants to speak with you in the car.”
I hesitated to go, and Boswell sensed it.
“Don’t worry. I’ll stay here with Morgana and Kyle. Nothing bad will happen to you. Go on.”
Leaving my wife and Kyle in the clutches of my ex-girlfriend, I headed to the car. As I approached, I recognized the driver. It was Phil from the medical center. He came out and opened the back driver’s side door. I stepped up, looked inside.
“Mrs. Prosper,” I said with forced delight.
“Please, do come inside, Richard. You’re letting the warm air out.”
I went in. Phil closed the door behind me and stationed himself outside — a few feet away from the car. As I discreetly tried to stop the seat belt buckle from goosing my bottom, I asked, “Well, what can I do for you?”
“Just give me a few moments of your time. Naturally, our conversation here is off the record, and never happened. You understand.”
I said I did, but I really didn’t. I’ve heard the phrase used in movies, but I never knew how that worked, especially when there is a witness or two about, like Phil and Bo.
“First, I want to thank you properly for helping me out of the smoking building during that incident a couple of weeks ago.”
“You thanked me already. Don’t mention it,” I said.
“Well, it should be mentioned. And your extraordinary job in managing our little situation should also be mentioned. No, it should be shouted from the heights of Mt. Anthony, in fact. But, alas, I’m sorry to say that must never happen.”
Mrs. Prosper, consolingly, tapped my knee. “But under the circumstances, Richard, I believe you are entitled to some answers to a number of questions that you may have. Though, I’m sure that you have figured out a few of the answers yourself by now. So, why don’t we start with what you think this adventure of ours was all about. And I will try to fill in the blanks where and if I can.”
I took up the challenge. “Let’s see. . . . This entire ordeal revolved around Foley’s thumb drive, or, better said, getting the information that is on the drive to its proper destination. For whatever reason, this took place at the Whyte Post.”
“Go on.”
I took my best shot. “The Whyte Post Inn is located in an out-of-the-way place — an ideal location to physically hand-off things of interest without arousing suspicion.”
I waited for a response.
Silence.
“Am I close?” I finally asked.
“You really have
n’t said anything. Go on.”
“Okay . . . I think the information, whatever it was, may have been too sensitive to transfer electronically to Foley.”
Mrs. Prosper gently nodded, though I was unclear of it’s meaning.
“Therefore, the transfer of the thumb drive had to be made in person. The transfer had to be done by someone who Foley trusted, his contact. But who was Foley’s contact? I puzzled over that.”
“Arezoo’s brother?” suggested the old lady. “He is an excellent candidate. Dolan killed him.”
“Yeah, the brother was my first guess. But then I thought if he were Foley’s contact, why kill him?”
“To leave no witnesses? These people are ruthless, as you well know.”
“No, that doesn’t work. Foley’s gang didn’t have the drive. Why would they kill the only person who was capable of getting them another copy?”
“Maybe,” said Prosper, “Foley may have never told his colleagues who his contact was. Their ignorance, he may have thought, would keep him useful to his associates and help him to stay alive in his line of business.”
“ I don’t know, that may be partially true, but a better idea was that Foley’s henchman, Dolan, killed Arezoo’s brother because he was seen as a threat,” I countered.
“Why did they think that?”
“Because he had a some of Foley’s things.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I overheard Arezoo talking to her brother about a bag that she gave him. I think the bag contained some of Foley’s things — credit cards, money, keys, things that could help her brother get away. Maybe even the gun that my brother found not too far from the body.“
“And why would Arezoo’s brother need a gun?”
“Maybe he didn’t even know the bag contained a gun. Maybe he needed a gun because he was a smuggler of a banned food products — a unique type of Iranian saffron,” I said, remembering when we first saw the body. “That is why Boswell recognized him. In any case, when Arezoo gave her brother . . . Foley’s things, she unwittingly set off a chain of events that led to her brother’s death.”
“Oh,” said the old lady and thought a bit. “So, you assume Arezoo’s brother tried to escape in Foley’s car.”
The old lady was catching on.
“Yes, and he was strongly motivated too. He found out that Agent Boswell had arrived at the inn, and he got scared,” I said. “The poor slob made a vain attempt to skedaddle and to run my brother off the road in the process. At the same time, Arezoo’s brother’s actions unwittingly cast suspicion on himself. He made himself look as though he took the file and knocked off Foley. Thus, he became a target for Foley’s friends, particularly for Dolan. Arezoo’s brother was the perfect example of being the wrong person, at the wrong place, at the wrong time, doing the wrong thing.”
“But we still have the question of who was Foley’s contact. Who gave him the information in the first place,” said Prosper.
“It’s obvious. There is only one person who had the motivation and the opportunity to give Foley the information that he wanted.”
“Oh?”
“You.”
“What! Me? Why Richard, do you really think that I—”
“I believe that you had both opportunity and motive.”
“Is that what you really think?”
“You knew Foley from the old days, didn’t you? You and your husband were stationed in Ireland during “the troubles”. I think during that time, you and your husband recruited Foley as one of our government’s moles or spies, or freelance agents, whatever they’re called.” This last bit was pure speculation on my part. I based my theory on my previous conversations with Prosper and her reaction to Moira’s confession about Foley’s death.
Prosper sat quietly stone-faced, not moving in any way. I couldn’t catch a vibe whether my accusation was on target or completely off the chart. I gambled and spilled every detail of my theory that had been smoldering in my brain for almost a fortnight.
“It was Foley,” I continued, “who executed the ambush on Moira and her parents so many years ago. But the real horror coming out of that incident, as if it weren’t bad enough in itself, the real horror is that our government knew about Foley’s butchery. And it did nothing . . . and you and your husband knew about it.“
The old woman slowly sank in her seat and became quite pale. She gave me a stare that could freeze a martini.
“So here, at the inn,” I continued, “we have you giving Foley the thumb drive on the night that you arrived. The transaction was to be nothing unusual because it was like the ones that were done between the two of you over decades . . . very secretive, very private. Foley never even told his close associates that you and Fred were his contacts. That is why they were going nuts at the inn. They knew that some type of record or file existed, but they never knew its source . . . Talk about honor among thieves.”
“A very astute assessment, Richard. Many disreputable groups and individuals would kill for the purported information on that file. Foley’s men didn’t know whether the FBI were after the file or a rival gang. It was all very confusing for them indeed. But you have covered the past thirty years with very broad strokes.” Mrs. Prosper leaned forward. She spoke very calmly and with authority. “But, as people say, the devil is found in the details.”
“And what type of devil are you, Mrs. Prosper?” I asked, pointedly.
She had a little chuckle before she answered. “Certainly not the type of fiend that you seem to imagine me to be. Fred and I recruited Foley for agency work some years before the Burke debacle. Foley, you see, had become an ex-Irish revolutionary who went off the reservation. He had set up a private service for hire that specialized in information gathering and eh, pest extermination.”
I wanted to question Mrs. Prosper more about Foley’s history, but her eyes told me that it would best if I didn’t ask.
“I can’t give you details, Richard. Too many situations are unresolved; too many cases are still open. But what I can tell you is that Foley played us for fools at first. He worked for several very powerful entities, not just for us. One of these entities hired him to ambush the Burke’s car and get the information that Moira’s father had with him. The killing spree on that fateful day . . . well, let’s just say that Foley’s secret employer did not want the Irish troubles to come to a peaceful end.”
Prosper paused to look at her wristwatch and then continued.
“After that terrible incident, the higher ups, considering the delicate negotiations that were taking place at the time, thought it best, to bring Foley and his organization totally into our fold. They wanted him to work strictly for us. They preferred this course of action rather than to hunting down Foley and risk showing the world our government’s inability to control events. Fred and I didn’t like it, we said so, but Fred and I got our orders and we carried them out the best we could. The country didn’t need any embarrassment in doing otherwise. My husband and I became Foley’s customers and suppliers for information. We were the only contacts he trusted at our end of the arrangement. Though, I strongly believed that he never quite knew who we really represented.”
“Whom do you represent, Mrs. Prosper?”
“Why the good guys, of course.”
“Hum . . . so, the upshot of it all was that Foley was never brought to justice. And Moira lived with terrible memories, all these years without any hope of closure until a few weeks ago.”
“Sad to say, but true. The government was afraid to expose its association with Foley’s organization. It was believed that it would be very, very bad for public relations.”
“The government, in a sense, bought him off. Is it national policy to use money as some kind of magic bullet to solve all the world problems?”
“It certainly was in those days. People forget that it was money that brought the Cold War to an end. The Soviet Union tried to match our expenses on military and defense, dollar for dollar. It we
nt broke in the attempt, and its political and economic systems collapsed. Oh, yes, I remember one evening, my Fred was relaxing in his comfy chair, sipping a cognac it was and said that the time would come when money. . .” Prosper caught herself drifting off in one her reminiscences. “I’m sorry . . . what were we talking about?”
“Foley.”
“Yes, quite right. Well, when the Berlin Wall came down, Foley and his organization started to expand its business, more or less with our government’s blessing, this time in the Near East. His connections there were proven to be very useful, as you would think. But as you know, the tide of international affairs ebb and flow.”
“Times change and Foley had become more of a handicap than a benefit.”
“Williams and Serena did say that you catch on quickly. Well, it seems that our Mr. Foley had taken on some customers of questionable moral character. So it was decided that Foley and his network had to be . . . eh, put out of commission.”
“The thumb drive, of course,” I said as if I found a lost piece of a favorite jigsaw puzzle. “Foley had to get the thumb drive. It’s a poison pill, so to speak.”
“A pill that will, in time, take care of Foley, his organization and some of Foley’s clients who aren’t our cup of tea. Our government cleans house without getting dirty. Well, that was the plan.”
“How was that?”
“Step one. Foley and his gang get paid millions of dollars for information that is, unbeknownst to him, crafted to mislead his Mid-East clients to purge some of their most important people from their posts. The sort of folks who are no way friendly to the West.”
“And when the truth is found out — ”
“That is step two. The truth comes out that the information on the drive is wrong or worse, a fake. Foley’s customers become very unhappy because they have mistakenly killed off some of their best people in the mistaken belief that those folks were disloyal. Foley’s network and your friend Dolan will be severely dealt with by the very people who employed Foley’s services. And our government can step back and watch the fun.”
FATED TO THE PURPOSE (Richard and Morgana MacKenzie Mysteries Book 2) Page 30
