by TJ O'Connor
Bear turned away for a long, silent moment. Finally, he said, “Angel, it’s the weirdest thing. Inside the trailer … damnedest thing … I swear I heard someone yelling at me. The voice brought me right to André. Like last night at McCorkle’s place. I swear I heard someone telling me what to do. I’m going nuts.”
“No,” Angel said, taking Bear’s arm and turning him toward her. “We both know who it was. You weren’t imagining it, Bear. You know it was Tuck.”
His jaw locked tight and he shook his head.
“Yes you do,” I said. “You are just too stubborn to admit it.”
Bear changed the subject and his face shot an angry, distrustful look at Spence and Clemens. I’ve seen that look a thousand times directed at lying suspects. “I’m very curious why those two happened to show up.”
“And the timing,” Ernie added as he walked up beside Angel. “How absolutely convenient. One has to wonder.”
“Well, then I guess you should wonder about me, Ernie,” Bear said. “After all, I got here in the nick of time, too.”
“Yes, you did, Detective. You’re always close by.” Ernie didn’t wait for Bear’s response and returned to the Suburban for more oxygen.
Spence walked up, jotting something in his notebook, and when he stopped beside Bear, he flipped the notebook closed.
Bear asked, “What do you have, Spence?”
“Chief thinks it’s arson. The construction crews left some gas cans beside the trailer. It looks like someone rigged them to explode. He’s just speculating for now. He’ll have more later. Cartier could have done this by himself and got caught in his own fire—he smelled like gas.”
“No,” Angel said, snapping her hands to her hips. “I think someone trapped him in there and tried to kill him.”
“Why him?” Spence shriveled up his face and looked more like a rodent smelling a trap than a homicide detective asking questions. “Why murder Cartier? There’s no proof.”
I said, “Even he has to know André was already out on the floor when the explosion happened.”
“Spence, think about it.” Bear looked sheepish and I could tell that buzzing was back in his ears. “André was unconscious when the fire started.”
“And how would you know that?”
Bear took it from there. “Because the clothes on his back were scorched and his hair blackened with soot—the front of his body wasn’t. He was face down on the floor when the fire started. His head also has a nice knot on it.”
“Sure, right.” Spence made a note. “But, there are other reasons Cartier could look like that.”
Angel said, “Well, when André recovers, he’ll tell us.”
“Yeah, right.” Spence shook his head as Clemens joined us. “Medics aren’t sure if his lungs are burnt. The hospital’s waiting on them to arrive. We won’t know for a while.”
Angel started to cry and Bear threw an arm around her. “Easy, now. He’ll be okay.”
“By the way, Braddock, the captain is looking for you.” Spence aimed his pen at Bear’s face. “You missed your meeting this morning.”
“Screw you.” Bear slapped the pen out of Spence’s hand and closed the distance between them to a few uncomfortable inches. “What are you and Clemens doing out here?”
“The Captain sent us.”
“Bullshit.”
Clemens stepped between them. “Listen, Bear, you weren’t answering your cell or radio. The captain got worried—everywhere you go someone gets killed. She sent us looking for you.”
“Bullshit.” Bear turned around, climbed into his car, and threw
a wave out his window for everyone to move. When we did, he sped off in a hail of gravel and dirt.
I leaned over to Angel. “Angel, I want to show you something. Go to the dig with me.”
She excused herself and walked off toward the pit, leaving Spence and Clemens scoffing and muttering about Bear. Ernie followed us but waited until we were out of earshot from the others before speaking.
“Angela, I’m curious about Detective Braddock.” Ernie glanced over her shoulder. “Detective Spence said he missed his meeting this morning with Captain Sutter. You told me that’s why he was late earlier.”
“Ernie, I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”
I was about to suggest how stupid Ernie’s questions were when
I realized they weren’t stupid at all. Was this another question spilling goo all over Bear? I swallowed my answer hard.
Ernie continued, “You told me that he wasn’t right there with you last night when someone shot at you.”
“Well, not right with me.” Angel tried to hide the conflict in her eyes by looking away. “Bear would never hurt me. And why would he hurt André? I trust him.”
Did she? But did I?
“My dear …”
“Bear would never do such a thing.” Angel pointed a scolding finger at him. “I won’t hear that from you again—ever.”
“I, I … I’m sorry, Angela. Forgive me.” Ernie’s face reddened and he turned back toward Spence and Clemens. They were watching now. “I should go. Be careful.” He headed for his car.
“Damn him.” Angel wiped a few tears away. When she turned back away from the watching eyes, she said, “What do you want, Tuck? I’m not sure how much more I can take.”
I stood above the pit and told her about the two wraiths visiting me again. I connected the dots for her between Kelly’s Dig and their murders I saw in my vision. It didn’t take a lot of dots.
“Angel, it all starts and ends here. We just have to figure out who and why.”
“Tuck, I cannot do this. I just can’t. Not now …”
“Just look at this.” I showed her the emerald stone I’d found and she dug it out of the clay and rock. Her face softened and she turned toward the orchard. She glanced off into the trees, perhaps expecting the girls to appear to her.
“An emerald? How did this get here?” Angel wiped it clean and held it up to the light. Her demeanor changed with every dim sparkle of green light.
I reached out and touched the stone. No sparks. No lightning. No eerie fog bringing pretty girls imploring my help. There was nothing.
Then it hit me.
“Angel,” I said, looking at the emerald in her hand. “I understand now. The girls—they’re dead like me, but they know who killed them. They just can’t do anything about it. They hope to stop their killer so they can move on.”
“Is this all about you? Your murder?”
I thought about that. “They said it wasn’t about me. But I think it’s that I’ve made contact with you. I’ve done what they couldn’t. They tried to warn me about André, too.”
“André?” she whispered. “They knew someone was trying to kill him?”
“I think so. They can’t reach out for help and they know I can.”
“What are you saying?” Angel’s brow furrowed. “They want you to help them because you’re dead?”
“No, because you’re not.”
fifty
The ominous bank of monitors and life-support apparatus encircling André’s bed made it difficult to see him. Tubes and a spaghetti-like array of wires protruded everywhere and covered him with an aura of desperation. His face was pale but his breathing regular. The machine’s constant beeping explained everything of importance—André Cartier was alive.
A uniformed deputy sat beside André’s room door. Bear wasn’t taking any chances with the only potential witness in Winchester’s crime wave. Someone tried to kill André once. Perhaps they would try again.
Angel was crying and I said, “Hey, he’ll be okay.”
“He has to be. I cannot believe someone would hurt him. We have to stop them.”
“We will, Angel. We will.”
She folded her arms. “How do you know tha
t? You can’t know that. Tuck, you just don’t understand.”
Oh really? “Actually, Angel, I think I do. I’m a little worse off, don’t you think?”
She started to debate me when André’s doctor, Dr. Pandreas, walked up behind us. The nurse came out of the room, handed him André’s chart, and walked down the hall. The doctor studied it before coming to Angel’s side.
“Dr. Tucker,” he said in a heavy Greek accent, “he’s going to be fine. It’s a miracle considering what happened. His lungs were not affected as we feared and I’m amazed he didn’t sustain more serious burns. You got to him in time. You should go now—we’ll call should anything change.”
“I’ll wait a while longer.” She looked through the observation window again. “Just a little while.”
He reached out and took her arm, guiding her toward a couch in the nearby waiting area. “Dr. Tucker, you have to trust me. He has a concussion and we’ll run more tests when he wakes up. But he will wake up and he’ll be fine.”
Angel thanked him and he excused himself.
Instead of sitting in the sparse waiting room, we went to visit Carmen Delgado two floors up. We arrived as she was leaving her room. She was checked out and heading to stay with family in Pennsylvania. After some happy conversation and hugs, Carmen was wheeled away under escort by another sheriff’s deputy. As she left, Angel wondered aloud if Carmen would ever return to town.
Neither of us would blame her if she didn’t.
We took the elevator to the basement cafeteria where Angel purchased a large black coffee. We found a table and sat.
“Tuck, I don’t know what to do next.”
“Let’s wait for André to wake up,” I said. “Maybe he’ll have some answers. Oh, shit …”
She nodded, “What?”
Tyler Byrd was heading straight for us. He was smiling, though
it looked like an effort. He stopped behind the chair I was sitting in and without asking, dropped down into it facing Angel. I barely made it clear before the behemoth smothered me.
“I’m glad I found you, Angela. I’m very sorry about Professor Cartier.” If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the bastard was being honest. “As soon as I heard, I came here to check on him.”
“Really?” Angel’s eyes flared. “How nice of you, Tyler. What happened out there?”
“Excuse me?” He sat back in his chair. “You think I had something to do with this?”
“Shouldn’t I?”
“Why should you? I’ve got more to lose than anyone. Every incident around that site costs me money and more of my reputation. Cartier’s accident is gonna make things worse.”
“Accident? It wasn’t an accident.”
“Listen, Angela.” Both Tyler’s hands landed on the table and nearly spilled Angel’s coffee. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to try to kill Professor Cartier the day after you call me a mobster? On my own site with my own equipment?”
Damn if he didn’t have a point. “Angel, ask him about the package at McCorkle’s.”
She did. “I’m curious what business you have with him—considering he’s dead, too.”
“For Christ’s sake.” Tyler thrust himself back in his chair. “I don’t recall doing business with any antique dealer in Staunton. If I needed one, I’d find someone right here—hell, there are hundreds of them.”
Another good point.
“Then explain it,” Angel demanded.
“I can’t.”
“How convenient.”
“Now, you listen. That envelope could have come from one of my clients. Anyone working for me could have taken one home. Jesus, we don’t lock them up.”
Angel said, “Maybe they’ll find your fingerprints on it.”
“Fingerprints?” He laughed. “You think it odd my fingerprints might be on my own business stationary? You can do better than that.”
Okay, so Tyler Byrd was batting a thousand. I asked, “Why did he pull his security guard from Kelly’s Dig after talking with you and André yesterday?”
She asked him and he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Nicholas did that.”
“Nicholas? Why?”
“I told you yesterday he handles security. We use some from his warehouse. When I told him you needed more time at Kelly’s Dig, he raised a big issue.”
“What issue—that a witness would get in the way of killing André?” I asked.
“What issue?” Angel asked.
“Money.” His voice was flat, void of any apology. “Why should we foot the bill for security there? The county stopped the work on us—it’s their contract and their land. The state historical people have writs and court orders out the … Why should I pay for security?”
Angel shrugged. “Yes, I suppose.”
“I pulled my equipment out around dinnertime yesterday. All that’s left are a couple big cats and our trailer. If the State wants to guard a hole in the ground, let them.”
Angel took a long sip of her coffee, watching Tyler over the cup. He had all the right answers. Maybe he was being straight or maybe he was a damn good liar. Right then, I couldn’t decide.
She said, “All right, Tyler. It’s all very convenient. But it’s reasonable.”
“The truth sometimes is, Angela.”
For a history professor, she was tough, and wasn’t taking his guff. “Tyler, I’m sorry, but a lot of people have been hurt. All of them are somehow connected to Kelly’s Dig and …”
“And what—me?” His mouth tightened as veins emerged on his forehead. “This is bullshit. The Historic Society is screaming. The county is screaming. The cops are breathing down on me. It ain’t my fault. Do you think I wanted to find skeletons buried there?”
Angel shook her head. “No, I guess not.”
“Do you think killing people helps me? I got judges slapping me with court orders, history nuts picketing my office, and now you’re accusing me of attempted murder. I build things, Angela, and it’s costing me millions to sit on my ass.”
Angel stayed cool. “We’re talking about murder, not money.”
“I know that. I had nothing to do with any of them. How stupid do you think I am? Every murder is connected to Kelly’s Dig and me.”
Wow, when he put it that way, he was either very, very stupid—or very, very innocent.
“Okay, Tyler. I’m sorry. Truly, I’m sorry.”
“Angela, forgive me, too.” His tone softened. “Of all the people who don’t deserve any of this, it’s you. You’ve been very helpful to me and I appreciate it. I’m feeling like a deer wearing a bright-red vest on the opening day of hunting season.”
They sat silent for several minutes, letting the anger cool. Tyler took a call from his office and Angel looked on.
When he hung up, she asked, “Do you know anything about two missing girls over the years?”
“What are you suggesting now?” Tyler’s temporary calm vanished. “That I …”
“No, no, don’t take it that way.” She held her hand up. “I was doing research about the site and came across references to two missing girls from the area—several years ago.”
“Who were they?”
Oops, she was caught. “I don’t know—I don’t have any details yet. I wondered if they might be connected to this.”
“Why? What are you getting at, Angela? What’s this got to do with Civil War skeletons?”
She shook her head. “Never mind. You’re right, it’s probably nothing.”
“Perhaps you should stick to history and leave the detective work to the cops.”
“I agree,” a voice said from behind us. Bear was standing behind Angel and touched her shoulder. “We need to talk—now.”
Angel looked up. “Oh, all right. Excuse me, Tyler.”
“Yeah, sure.” He stood. To Bear
, he said, “Braddock, I want to talk to you anyway.”
“Later. I don’t have time right now. I’ll call you.”
Tyler started to argue, but Bear wasn’t having it. “Later.”
“Fine.” Tyler nodded to Angel and walked off with a brisk, if not angry pace.
Bear took Tyler’s seat and leaned close to Angel. “Jack Dougherty called. He has some good news.”
“What is it?”
“They pulled all McCorkle’s computer records and Irene Lexington put some information together for us. But Byrd’s name isn’t anywhere in McCorkle’s files. Neither is Salazar’s or Iggi’s.”
“Then how did Byrd’s shipping envelope get there? And who has been making those deliveries Irene told us about?”
“My guess is it’s all the same person—Irene remembered the big, mysterious delivery boy’s name. She pulled the account file for us.”
“Who is it?”
“There’s just one name on the file.” Bear looked around and spit the name out like something bitter in his mouth. “Tommy.”
fifty-one
Cacapon State Park is a beautiful park resting along, what a surprise, the Cacapon Mountains in the eastern panhandle of West Virginia. Cacapon—pronounced “kah-KAY-pon” for those who might bastardize the word as I have—comes from the Shawnee Indian word for medicine waters, or something of that sort. The park is located about twenty-eight miles north of Winchester and among its many popular features is a scenic overlook of the valley below. The overlook also features a dramatic and rocky drop of several hundred feet to the base of the park—the express lane to the park entrance.
Why is this all so very important?
First, Bear Braddock was entertaining a guest at the overlook—his wayward informant, Tommy—doer of deeds for Poor Nicholas Bartalotta. Second, Tommy was dangling backwards off the overlook as Bear raged about the perils of keeping secrets. Lastly, if the Cacapon’s Shawnee medicine waters couldn’t fix Tommy up when Bear was through, then the Winchester Hospital was a short drive away. It all makes sense when you think about it.
“You son-of-a-bitch.” Bear pressed the large, bulky bodyguard over the waist-high railing that barred him from a five-hundred- foot drop. “You’re holding out on me, Tommy. I want to hear about Nic’s antique collection.”
