“I hope so.”
The bodyguard trailed her as she walked to her office. After she unlocked the door, she keyed in the code before opening it. On a hunch, she looked over her shoulder and scanned the ceiling and found what she was looking for. A camera was positioned just below the ceiling to track activities in the hallway.
“Looking for something, Ms. Allen?” the bodyguard asked.
“Not really.” She couldn’t keep thinking of him as “the bodyguard.” “What’s your name?”
“Phillip McFall.”
“Okay, Phillip, come on in and make yourself at home.”
She took her laptop from the bag and booted it up. Thinking with someone hovering around might prove difficult. She squared her shoulders and stared at the screen. It had already been proven the thief could tap into the camera. It would be no problem for him to turn it and capture an employee keying in the code on the keypads. He could probably even take a photo of Mark Tomlinson’s key hanging on his belt.
37
A TRAFFIC SNARL HAD DELAYED BRAD, and the meeting in Homicide was ten minutes into the briefing when he slipped in and took a seat in the back row.
“Glad you could join us, Brad,” Reggie said. “Lieutenant Robinson just finished giving his report that confirms the explosion was caused by a bomb, and it looks like it was homemade and relatively small. Powerful enough to have killed anyone standing close enough.”
As Tim Corelli almost found out. “Was C-4 used?”
“No. Ammonium nitrate and fuel oil.”
Probably the easiest bomb to make if you didn’t get your head blown off. Plus, the materials weren’t that hard to obtain. “How about the neighbors? Did any of them notice anything unusual late yesterday afternoon or early evening?”
“Neighbors on either side worked until six yesterday,” Reggie said. “And the ones across the street didn’t see anything unusual.”
After a few more questions, Reggie handed out assignments and dismissed the detectives.
“Do you have a minute?” Brad asked. Too many things had happened too quickly, and he needed fresh eyes on Paul Carter’s case. “You too, Rachel, since these cases are tied together. Do you have time to sit down in my office and bat ideas around?”
Reggie checked his watch. “I can give you thirty minutes, then I have a meeting with the director.”
“I’m good for an hour,” Rachel said.
Brad found another chair and brought it to his office for Reggie, and then he erased the whiteboard on the wall. Warren’s folder with the investigation reports was on his desk. “I thought if we laid it out, we could tie some of these threads together.”
“Where does it all begin?” Reggie asked.
Brad wrote Paul Carter on one side of the board at the top. “With him. And the attempts on Kelsey’s life are tied to her father’s murder, if for no other reason than the same weapon was used. We have zilch on Paul Carter’s murder, though.”
“I believe the same person is responsible for everything,” Rachel said. “I believe whoever was stealing from the museum murdered Carter, but I don’t believe he did it alone.”
“Why?” Reggie asked.
“The bones. The murderer would never send the bones to the museum.”
Brad wrote The murderer had a partner under Carter’s name. “But why did he dig up the bones in the first place and why now? It’s been twenty-eight years since the murder.”
“And why send them to the museum?” Rachel said.
They all three fell silent.
“Maybe Carter’s death was an accident,” Reggie said.
“Okay . . . let’s follow that thread. What if Carter discovered the thefts and threatened to expose the thief?” Brad said slowly.
“Maybe they scuffled,” Rachel said, “and the gun he’d stolen was handy and the murderer shot him or they were fighting over the gun and it went off. Then he has to get rid of the body.”
“And he panics and calls someone,” Brad said, writing.
Reggie nodded. “His brother, a close friend . . .”
“And they bury the body,” Rachel said. “And fuel the rumors that Carter was stealing artifacts.”
“But the only way that will work is if someone knows the artifacts are missing from the museum. So an audit is requested.” Brad walked to his desk and looked through the file. He’d seen something about an audit in one of Warren’s reports. When he didn’t find anything, he scratched his head. Wait. It hadn’t been in a report. “When I talked to the detective who investigated Carter’s disappearance, he wasn’t sure who on the board had asked for an audit. I need to check with him again to see if he has recalled the name.”
“So, we’re looking at someone who worked at the museum as the murderer,” Rachel said.
“Or has connections to the museum,” Brad said. “But why shoot Hendrix and Rutherford with a gun that ties back to Carter?” He walked back to the whiteboard and wrote the two men’s names, then to the side, wrote Walther P .38 and drew a connecting line.
“Maybe it’s the only gun he has, and he probably had no idea Carter’s remains would show up.” Reggie scanned through the reports. “Was ammunition for the gun stolen as well?”
“No, but it fires nine millimeter cartridges—no problem to get. And I bet the killer never even considered that a ballistic test had been conducted on the bullets from the 1954 shooting at the Capitol building and were on file. He may have even thought using a gun that old would confuse us.”
Brad wrote information about the gun on the board. “I still don’t understand why the bones were shipped to the museum. Could we brainstorm that before Reggie has to leave?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Rachel said. “And how I would feel if a member of my family murdered someone, even if it was accidental. Would I turn them in?”
She shifted her gaze first to Reggie, then to him. “You have brothers, Reggie, and Brad, you have a sister. What would you do?”
Brad tried to envision a scenario like what Rachel described. Could he turn Andi in? Even though the question was rhetorical, his chest tightened. He glanced at Reggie, who was tapping his fingers on the table. He and his four brothers were tight. Could either of them turn in a sibling for murder? One thing he knew for sure, if Brad hid a crime like that, it would eat at him like a cancer.
“If we, as police officers sworn to uphold the law, struggle with this hypothetical question, what would an ordinary citizen do?” Rachel leaned back in her chair. “Gentlemen, we possibly have a real situation where this happened. What do you think would be the first requirement the killer’s accomplice would have?”
“It better never happen again,” Brad said. He nodded his head. “And when it did—”
“The accomplice freaked out,” Reggie finished.
“But he still can’t turn the killer in,” she said. “Even though he’s trying to kill Kelsey.”
“Maybe he thought if Carter’s body surfaced, it would scare the killer enough that he would back off,” Reggie said as he stood. “Time for me to go, but I think you’re on the right track. Keep working at this, and look at who had connections to the museum twenty-eight years ago.”
After the lieutenant left, Rachel said, “Reggie may be right. If we release the information that Carter was murdered and his remains have surfaced, the killer might back away from Kelsey.”
“Or he might go after his accomplice,” he said.
“That’s a possibility I think we need to risk. Why don’t you call your sister and give her the story? She always makes us look good in the press.”
He smiled. That would really earn him brownie points with Andi, and he could use the lift he’d get from making one person happy. He made the call. “Busy?”
“You know I’m always busy,” Andi said. “Are you calling to tell me what caused the explosion last night?”
“No, that information isn’t being released yet. But I am giving you a press release. Skeletal remains disc
overed in a crate from the Coon Creek Science Center have been identified as those of Paul Carter, one-time director of the Pink Palace Museum, who was accused of stealing artifacts from the museum. You can lead in with ‘Twenty-eight-year-old disappearance solved.’”
“Where are the bones now?” she asked. “And where can I get more information on this Paul Carter?”
“His remains are at the Forensic Center on Poplar. And you can probably find all you need in the Commercial Appeal’s archives. One more thing—Paul Carter is Kelsey Allen’s dad.”
“Oh wow. Have you told her yet?”
“Yes, but I need to let her know it’s going to hit the news.”
“I owe you one, big brother. This will be my lead story at six. When are you coming for dinner at Mom and Dad’s?”
“Soon.” He hung up and said, “It’ll be on the nightly news, and I need to let Kelsey know. But first I want to finish these notes.”
Brad listed the known people who were at the museum when Carter was murdered. Jackson King, Julie Webb, Helen Peterson, Mark and Robert Tomlinson. “Can you think of anyone else?”
Rachel shook her head. “I’m not familiar with the people at the museum. I thought Kelsey was going to check that out today.”
“She is.” He remembered two more names and wrote them on the board. Sam and Grant Allen. Then he speed-dialed Kelsey’s number. His stomach clenched. Why was the call going to her voice mail? “She’s not answering.”
“She has a bodyguard with her, right?”
He nodded.
“Then give it a minute and call her back. I just thought about something else we haven’t considered. Carter’s killer could be a woman.”
38
KELSEY REREAD THE ARTICLE about the app that could make a key from a photo and shook her head at how easy it was. All she had to do was take a photo of a key with her phone, and the app would find the code that she could print out. Any locksmith could then make a copy.
Just when she’d limited their possible suspects to three people—Mark Tomlinson, Robert Tomlinson, and Jackson King if he had Rutherford’s key—another possibility opened up. Not that any of the three seemed the type to steal artifacts for a personal collection, especially Mark. On the other hand, she didn’t really know them. Was it possible she was judging Mark by his grouchy personality?
But maybe that grouchiness was because he thought his brother was the thief. Which would make Robert Tomlinson the thief/murderer. Which seemed far-fetched. But was it far-fetched because she liked the director better than his brother? And the same question could be asked about Jackson.
She would not make a good detective—she let her emotions color her thoughts. Her time would be better spent checking to see if a camera could be trained on the doors of the artifact storage rooms. She quickly signed in to the site and found the hallway camera for the storage area. With a couple of clicks she was able to reposition the angle of the camera and zoomed in on the keypad. A minute later someone knocked at her open door, and Jackson King stuck his head inside the room.
“I see your bodyguard made it,” he said, nodding to Phillip. “How are you faring after last night?”
“I’m here, and I think that’s all I’ll say.”
“Take it easy today.” He glanced toward her computer. “I just received a phone call from the security room. Are you playing with the cameras?”
She’d forgotten they were being closely monitored now. “Oops. I should have called you before I started fooling around with them. But I’m glad to see someone caught it so quickly. Oh, by the way, do you have Mr. Rutherford’s master key for the building and offices?”
“Yes. It’s always in my pocket. Why?”
“I’m just trying to figure out how the thief gets into the storage rooms.”
He sat in a chair beside her desk where he could see her monitor. “What are you looking for there?”
“Just checking to see how hard it would be to use the camera to get the code for the keypads.”
“And?”
“See for yourself.” She pointed to her computer screen, where the camera feed was playing. “I’ve aimed the camera straight at the keypad, but I can’t judge if a person standing in front of the door to enter the code would block the view.”
“You keep watching, and I’ll go enter the code.”
A minute later he appeared on camera at the door leading into the storage area, and when he entered the code, she plainly viewed what numbers he put in.
“Could you see what I keyed in?” he asked when he returned.
“Afraid so.” She chewed the end of her thumbnail.
“You’re good,” Jackson said.
Kelsey shrugged. “It’s not hard when you know what you’re looking for.”
“But not everyone would know that.” He glanced at Phillip. “You want to take a break?”
The security guard checked with Kelsey, and she nodded. “Get yourself some coffee.”
When they were alone, Jackson said, “I like the way you work, and I’ve been thinking . . . would you be interested in joining Rutherford Security as a junior partner?”
“What? Partner?” She shook her head. That came out of nowhere. “I don’t have the money to buy in.”
“You wouldn’t need money.” He sat in the chair. “Let me be honest with you. Walter Rutherford was a wonderful person, but he didn’t want to change with the times, and we’ve been losing clients. We . . . I need someone like you, someone with fresh ideas and who knows computers, because I’m not that good and I certainly don’t have your expertise.”
“Do you own Rutherford Security now?”
“Not yet, but I will as soon as I can buy out Walter’s heirs.”
She rocked back in her chair. A junior partner in an established firm? She wouldn’t have to scramble to get clients because no one knew who she was. As a partner, she’d still be her own boss . . . She took a breath. “Let me think about it. I totally wasn’t expecting this.”
“I don’t expect an answer right now.” He stood. “Don’t overdo it today.”
“I won’t. Do you know how that security guard who got hurt last night is?”
“He’s going to be all right. Scheduled to be released later today. Are you sure you’re okay? You look tired.”
She rolled her shoulders. “I won’t lie—this whole thing has been rough.”
“I’m sorry all of this is happening to you. Did you go home with Sam and your mother last night?”
“No.” Kelsey was tempted to tell Jackson where she was staying, but Brad had told her not to tell anyone.
He looked as though he wanted to ask more. “I guess I’d better let you get back to work.”
“I wanted to ask you about that. Am I still working undercover?”
“I think right now that’s the best approach. Other employees might confide in you more readily if they think you’re one of them.”
“Won’t they wonder about the security guard?”
“By now everyone knows someone fired shots at you Monday. They just don’t know why, but they know how security conscious Tomlinson is, so I think you’re fine. If anyone should confide in you, let me know.”
“I was surprised yesterday when Helen Peterson knew I’m working undercover. More or less said she’d guessed I was working with you, but I wonder if someone told her.”
“Robert could have. He totally depends on her, but you don’t have to worry about Helen. She’s very discreet. It probably would be a good idea, though, for people to see you working in your capacity as conservator.”
Kelsey nodded. “Good to know that about Helen, and I’ll get to work on the circus within the hour.”
She didn’t mind working as the conservator at all. Restoring the miniature pieces was almost as good as a tranquilizer, and put her mind in order. Something she needed if she was going to consider the job offer Jackson had just made. “When do you want an answer about the job?”
His face lit
up. “Glad to see you’re thinking about the offer. But take your time. I’m going over the accounts with the heirs’ attorney next week—I think we have about a hundred accounts right now.”
“That many?” she said.
“Oh yes. The ones you’re familiar with are the museum account and the accounting office you broke into, as well as your stepfather’s building. I think our most interesting client is my dad’s scrap iron place. You’ll have to see the crusher in action. It reduces a car to a cube.”
Only a man could get excited about a car crusher. “I noticed when I was poking around that the museum’s personnel files have been uploaded into the networked files,” Kelsey said. “Do you know how far back they go?”
“No, but you can ask Robert.”
“I don’t need to bother him. I’ll just log in and see what I can find before I start work on the circus.”
“Then I better let you get to work. I’ll send McFall in.”
“Before you go, I hope it’s okay that I have a doctor’s appointment at 1:30, but it could run over.”
“Are you ill?”
Kelsey hesitated. She didn’t want to explain she was seeing a hypnotherapist, not even to Jackson. “It’s nothing serious, just something I need to get checked out.”
He studied her a second, then nodded. “Of course, take as much time as you need.”
As Phillip slipped inside the room, Kelsey logged in to the system and accessed the personnel database. While she waited for it to load, she picked up her phone. Brad had called. Why hadn’t she heard it ring? She checked and somehow had turned the ringer off. He was probably frantic, and she quickly dialed him back.
“Where were you?”
She held the phone away from her ear. “You don’t have to shout. My phone got turned on silent.” For a minute she thought he’d hung up, and looked at her phone. Nope, still connected. He was probably counting to ten. “I didn’t know,” she said.
“I was just about ready to come with my siren blasting.”
“But I’m okay, and Phillip is here in the office with me. Do you want his cell number?”
“Yes.”
Justice Buried Page 23
