Two Parts Bloody Murder

by Jen J. Danna

  “But if they were Ward’s and then got passed down to his grandson after his disappearance, why didn’t Evelyn Holt recognize them?” Leigh asked.

  “Maybe she did.” When Leigh stared at him blankly, Matt continued. “Think about her reaction. I thought she was going to pass out when you described them to her.”

  “That’s true. I chalked her reaction up to the stress of the experience, but maybe it was the stress of that moment. But what’s the significance of her son having a family heirloom like that? And why deny knowledge of it?”

  “I’m not sure. Let’s just keep it in mind as something that seems out of place. Now, back to Ward himself. If he owned the Blue Ruin, do you think that’s why the Boston Liquor Squad wanted to talk to him? Rowe, in the notes we’ve found here, Boston P.D. had a list of individuals to bring in for questioning and Ward is on that list. Someone must have suspected some shady dealings on his part.”

  “Tricky thing, bringing down a congressman. They’d have been treading lightly.”

  “Especially considering all those complicated relationships. If we’re lucky, there’s more on it in the journal. We’ll keep looking to see if there’s anything else.”

  “This could be why he was killed. Even if he owned the club, he should have been buying his booze from Buccola and company. Unless he found another source.”

  “Wouldn’t the Mob just have hit the competitor instead of the buyer if that was the case?” Matt asked.

  “They might have. On the other hand, what if they wanted to make an example of Ward? A warning to other owners to remember who held their leash?”

  “But didn’t we just say that Ward’s death was too quiet?” Leigh asked. “I thought that wasn’t the Mob way.”

  “Normally, it isn’t. But considering who the guy was, it makes me wonder if they took a different tack. Killing another mobster is one thing; in some ways the cops would thank you for whacking a bad guy. But brazenly kill a congressman and you’ll bring down a world of hurt and unwanted attention on your head. Kill him and hide the body, and things might go smoother for you.”

  “They got attention from the disappearance anyway,” Matt pointed out.

  “They did,” Rowe agreed, “but not for long. Without a body, nobody could actually prove Ward was dead, and there was zero evidence leading directly back to the Mob. So the cops had to let it go. But now that we’re looking at it with the benefit of time and perspective, we may find something else.”

  “Do you really think that Peter Holt’s death was a Mob hit, related to Ward’s death all those years ago?” Leigh asked. “I find that hard to believe considering the state of the New England crime family now. It’s a shadow of what it used to be.”

  “I admit it doesn’t seem likely, but can we discount it?”

  “I guess not. But my gut just isn’t going there.”

  “Let’s keep it on the table, but look for other options. I’m going to try to narrow in more on Charles Ward. I’ll let you know if I find anything else.”

  “Us too. Thanks for the update, Rowe.”

  “My pleasure. Really. Talk to you later.” Rowe clicked off.

  Leigh climbed back on her knees and spent a moment sorting through the remaining trunk contents. “I think that’s everything that will be useful to us. Let me put all of this back and then let’s take the journal downstairs to look at it in better light over a glass of wine.” Leigh carefully repacked the trunk, and then climbed to her feet and started toward the stairs.

  Matt started to trail after her and then abruptly stopped as he realized that she’d barely taken a step. Following her gaze, he noticed the boxes piled in neat rows on the far side of the attic. “What’s that?”

  “Boxes from Dad’s house.” Her voice was flat, and his heart ached for the pain she always tried so hard to hide when it came to her father.

  “There’s quite a few.” He attempted to keep his voice casual, to keep the concern from his tone. He wasn’t sure he pulled it off.

  “I didn’t sort through it at the time. I just boxed it all up and put it away, so there may be stuff I could get rid of.”

  Put it away for four years? Locked all the pain and misery away in boxes in the attic and never dealt with it? Matt caught her arm and turned her around to face him. Leigh’s gaze fixed on the top button of his shirt, clearly not wanting to meet his eyes, but he slipped one hand under her chin to tip her face up. At first, she resisted, but he kept up a gentle pressure until she finally raised her face. Her eyes were dry but unease roiled in their depths.

  “You never went through any of it,” Matt said quietly.

  “No. It was just too hard back then. Too … final.” She glanced sideways toward the boxes that were all she had left of her father. “And there wasn’t a rush. It wasn’t like he needed any of it.”

  “Leigh.” He ran a warm palm up and down her arm. “Maybe there’s something in there you’d like to have.” Another angle occurred to him and he stared intently into the shadowed corner. “Maybe there’s something in there we can use.”

  “For what?”

  “Against whoever is sending you those deliveries? You keep a notepad, your great-grandfather kept a journal. What did your father keep?”

  “I don’t remember there being anything like that, but I admit I boxed up his office without really looking. He used to work on cases from home at night, but all of that was on his computer.”

  “You can take files home and work on them at night?”

  Leigh colored slightly. “Well … it’s not exactly department policy. And I don’t think he was taking evidence or active files home. But sometimes the work gets into you and your shift might be done, but you’re not. I found him working on stuff at home more than once. For Dad, the job didn’t stop when he walked out the unit door.”

  “Like father, like daughter,” Matt said. “You said you kept his hard drive because there were personal files and family photos on it?”

  “Yes. It’s one of those things I was always going to get to, but somehow managed to continue putting off. And then when the packages started to arrive, it should have moved up my list, but there was always something else that needed doing first.” She scowled and tapped her thigh with a clenched fist.

  “It’s not like you’ve been sitting with your feet up for the last few weeks. You’ve been busy.”

  “Not so busy that I couldn’t make time for it. Let’s be honest; part of me doesn’t want to deal with this.”

  “Which is totally understandable. Where’s the hard drive? Somewhere in that pile of boxes?”

  “Probably. Why?”

  It’s now or never. “I want you to bring someone else in on your father’s case,” he said flatly. When she immediately started to protest, he cut her off. “We need help and from what you’ve said, he’s a good guy.”

  Hands on hips, Leigh narrowed her eyes on him in suspicion.

  “Who?”

  “Rob Tucker.”

  She opened her mouth to speak and then snapped it shut again as if reconsidering.

  “You said he’s a computer genius. You said he’s solid and can be trusted. You have your dad’s hard drive and who knows what’s on there? If there are deleted files, Tucker could probably recover them. We need to find out more information about the case your father was working on when he died, and I bet Tucker could help. I’ve been thinking about it for a few days, but I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.” When she stayed silent, he started to second guess himself, started to back down. It had to be her decision in the end. “Terrible idea?”

  “Actually, no.”

  Surprised relief rushed through Matt, loosening the knot in his gut.

  “You may have a point,” Leigh continued. “And I think we can trust Tucker. We can’t do anything at the office; I’d need him to come here for us to explain it to him. And I’d need to find the drive. It’s over there … somewhere.”

  “Then let’s do it. Leigh, it’s time to go on t
he offensive. Let’s not wait for that bastard to send something else. Let’s go after him instead.”

  For the first time in what felt like a long time, hope flickered in Leigh’s eyes. Squaring her shoulders, she marched over to the boxes and started pushing through them, reading the neatly printed labels on each container. She glanced back at Matt, who still stood near the trap door that led down to the second floor. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get over here and help me find that damned drive.”

  With a wide grin, he ducked low and joined her.

  It was time to put an end to this.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: DISTILLED SPIRITS

  * * *

  Distilled spirits: ethanol that is separated by heating fermented products, such as crushed grapes or mash, and then condensing the resulting vapors.

  Wednesday, 10:15 p.m.

  Abbott Residence

  Salem, Massachusetts

  There were three sharp knocks at the front door.

  Leigh put down her glass of wine and started to push up from the couch but Matt was already on his feet. While trying to look casually relaxed, he’d been practically perched on the edge of the couch, waiting for Rob Tucker to arrive. He waved her back down. “I’ll get it.”

  Matt strode down the hallway. He wanted a moment to size up this new team member before they started handing over sensitive information to him. And he wanted to put the guy at a slight disadvantage while doing so by keeping Leigh out of sight. Tucker had been incredibly helpful in his first case with Leigh—he’d been the one to identify the killer and provide his location—but he was Leigh’s contact and still something of an unknown commodity to Matt, despite the fact Matt had lobbied to include him. He’d heard a lot about Rob Tucker, all of it good, but he’d yet to actually meet him.

  He’d anticipated an uptight computer geek, but when he opened the door, the man on the other side could have just walked out of a college dorm. Tucker looked more than a little disheveled—his shaggy red hair was sticking up like he’d been running his fingers through it, and his loosely tied sneakers were scuffed and worn. An open ski jacket revealed a faded black T-shirt declaring There’s No Place Like 127.0.0.1 worn over equally faded black jeans.

  At the sight of Matt, suspicion streaked over Tucker’s face and his gaze shot over Matt’s shoulder to search the hall behind him. “I’m looking for Leigh Abbott.”

  Matt stepped back and held the door wider. “You’re in the right place.” He held out his hand. “Matt Lowell.”

  Tucker’s eyes were blank for just a millisecond, and then understanding dawned. “You’re the scientist that helped her crack the Bradford case.” The two men shook hands. “She’s here, right?”

  “She is.” Tucker’s eyes darted left and right, clearly searching for Leigh, but Matt didn’t move, essentially trapping Tucker in place. “Look, she’s going to share some pretty personal stuff and I need to know it’s not going to go beyond you. If you can’t be trusted with this—” Tucker’s eyes went wide, clearly offended at the suggestion, but Matt barreled on. “—then it stops now.”

  Tucker drew himself upright, unmindful of the fact that he was a good five inches shorter than Matt. “I don’t know who you think you are—”

  “A friend. One that won’t stand by and see her get hurt.”

  Tucker took a step back, coolly appraising Matt with a critical gaze. Then his expression relaxed. “Good enough for me. I like Abbott; she’s solid. Never believed any of the crap I hear about her from the guys.” He met Matt’s gaze. “Is she in trouble?”

  Any tension Matt felt about Tucker dissipated at the genuine concern reflected in the younger man’s eyes. “Not right now, but it’s hard to say where this will go. She’ll explain it all to you. Just realize this is going to be hard for her.”

  “She’s always been fair with me. Rides my ass when I don’t get her info fast enough to suit her, but she’s always fair. If I can help her out, I’m in.”

  “Appreciate that. This way.” Matt led the way down to the living room to where Leigh sat stiffly on the couch in front of the roaring fire. Tucker’s gaze darted from the fire to the two empty wine glasses on the coffee table to the low lighting. He shot a sideways look at Matt. “Friends, huh?” he muttered under his breath.

  “No one knows, so keep it under your hat,” Matt replied in a low tone.

  “Nobody talks to us computer geeks anyway.” Tucker raised his voice. “Abbott, still doing your best to have me at your beck and call at the worst possible time? I have a life, you know.”

  Leigh cocked a single brow at his bravado. “There’s no football game on tonight. Nerds are infamously lonely, so I thought I was doing you a favor. I wouldn’t want you to resort to trying to find a date on the BBS.”

  Matt flicked a surprised glance at Leigh; he never would have guessed she was familiar with computer bulletin board systems.

  “Damn it, how do you know about that? I thought only us geeks knew the wonders of the BBS still. Now I may have to kill you.”

  Watching the repartee, Matt quickly understood that banter seemed to be the main form of normal communication between these two.

  “But no BBS for me tonight,” Tucker continued. “I was just kicking back with my code and a beer. And I was all right with that. Until you called me and ruined a perfect evening.” The sarcastic tone left his voice, leaving him somber. “What’s going on? Lowell made it sound serious.”

  Leigh sent Matt a narrowed glare and he returned it with a flat stare. He would do whatever needed to be done; vetting someone new coming onto the team was well within his purview.

  “Lowell can step back a bit,” Leigh said pointedly.

  “Not a chance.” Matt sat back down beside her and indicated the armchair for Tucker. “Not considering what’s going on. I’m just being … cautious.”

  “You know I can look out for myself. I don’t need you to—”

  “Wait a second.” Flopping loosely into the chair, Tucker interrupted before they could wind themselves up. “You’ve got an issue and I’m here to help. Rather than going a few rounds when we’re really all on the same side, how about you fill me in.” He glanced at Matt, who returned a single nod of thanks.

  Leigh sagged back against the couch, as if suddenly exhausted. “I’m … I’m …” She stopped and looked at Matt. “Damn it, I don’t even know what to call it. I’m not being blackmailed.”

  “Yet,” Matt replied succinctly. “Leigh’s received several unmarked packages in the mail. Two were delivered to the unit last month; this week one of them came to the house. They’re mailed from Boston, but have no return address. I’ve run DNA each time and it comes back negative.”

  “I’ve dusted for prints, which also was negative,” Leigh said. “So whoever it is, they’re taking precautions.”

  “You say you’re not being blackmailed,” Tucker stated. “Then what’s being sent?”

  Matt simply looked at Leigh, letting her take the lead as they got into deeper waters. Leaving it up to her to decide what she wanted to reveal.

  She rubbed a hand over tired eyes and then met Tucker’s gaze. “Information about my father. The first package contained a crime scene photo from his shooting. On the back of the picture was the warning that he was a dirty cop and I was going to be the one to pay for it.”

  “Nate Abbott a dirty cop?” Tuckers smirked in disbelief. “I never met him—I joined the unit after his death—but the man is a legend. If he was a dirty cop, then every man in the unit is wrong about him.”

  “He wasn’t dirty,” Leigh snapped out. Then she bent her head and rapped both fists on her knees. “Sorry, I’m slightly oversensitive about all of this. Every time this stuff gets discussed, my back goes up.”

  Tucker gave an easy shrug. “No worries. So are the deliveries supposed to provide evidence of his indiscretions on the job?”

  “That started in the second delivery. There was a photo of him at a meeting with someone I don’t recognize.
” Leigh picked up one of the two manila envelopes on the coffee table and passed it over to Tucker. “This is what came in the first two deliveries.”

  She looked away as Tucker pulled out the crime scene photo from the first package. She didn’t need to see it; it was already burned into her brain.

  Tucker’s gaze flicked once to Leigh and then he set the photo facedown on his thigh. He pulled out the second photo, the one that had arrived in the second delivery. “Who’s the guy with your dad?” He flipped around the photo of Leigh’s father and another man meeting under a glowing sign lit with the words Bruno’s Tavern.

  “That’s one of the things we don’t know. Think there’s enough in the photo for facial recognition?”

  Tucker turned the photo back to face him, eyeing it critically. “Only a small bit of profile to work with, but I may be able to finesse some magic out of it. Facial recognition from a profile is nearly impossible, but assuming the guy’s face is symmetric, I can use software to essentially clone the one side to generate the other and then rotate the image to get an anterior view for comparison.”

  “How long will that take?” Matt asked.

  “At least a few days, depending on how the extrapolation goes and how lucky I am running it through the system. And, of course, that all depends on what blows up at work in the meantime.”

  “Will the force know you’re running it?”

  Tucker laughed. “Me? No,” he said scathingly. “You’ve come to the right place if you want something done under the radar. No one knows those systems better than I do.”

  Leigh shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “What happens if you get caught?”

  “It’s pretty simple—I won’t get caught.” He was silent for a minute, studying the picture thoughtfully. “Another question that leaps out at me is where did this shot come from?”