Buried Leads (A Headlines in High Heels Mystery)

by Walker, LynDee

  Agents from the Richmond office of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives made an arrest Thursday in the murder of Daniel Amesworth, 29, the Henrico man whose body was found in the woods near Goochland earlier this week.

  James Billings, 56, also of Henrico, was held overnight and released early Friday despite the objection of Commonwealth’s Attorney Richard Corry, who made a rare courtroom appearance to argue for keeping the Raymond Garfield executive in custody until after his trial.

  “Mr. Billings is a flight risk,” Corry told Judge Reginald Davis. “Most of the murder defendants our courtrooms see don’t have his resources, or his connections. The Commonwealth wants to ensure that he stays in Virginia until the trial.”

  Corry didn’t outline the particulars of the Commonwealth’s case, but the Telegraph has learned that the firm where Amesworth worked does political lobbying for Raymond Garfield.

  I debated that sentence for a full three minutes, but left it in because I wanted to have it first. Once Billings’s arrest was live, all it would take for Charlie to find out Amesworth was a lobbyist was a Google search for the relationship between Raymond Garfield and the dead lawyer. I clicked over to my browser and typed the name of Billings’s attorney into my Google bar to see where he worked. Holy shit: the guy’s name sounded familiar because he was a principal in Amesworth’s firm.

  I clicked back over to my story, shaking my head. “Defending the guy accused of killing one of his own employees,” I said. “How does Captain Cologne sleep at night?”

  By the time I finished pounding out the story and sent it to Bob, it was nearly lunchtime. Which meant my three o’clock deadline for filing my feature with Eunice was fast approaching, and I hadn’t even written the lead yet.

  The morning’s police reports sounded so much sexier after my eavesdropping adventure, though. I stared at my notes for the feature, ignoring my noisy stomach and three emails from Eunice wanting to know where her story was. I clicked over to the PD reports database and scrolled, hunting for the one on the robbery. I found it just in time for my scanner to start squawking. I turned up the volume.

  “Why the hell do they need a structural engineer for a car accident?” I wondered aloud, jotting down the address and typing it into Google maps. They were calling an awful lot of ambulances out there, too.

  When the little red pin popped up, I scrambled to my feet and threw my bag over my shoulder.

  “Where’s the fire, sugar?” Eunice asked as I almost mowed her down on my way to the elevator.

  “The west end,” I called over my shoulder, not slowing down. “Someone ran a truck through a jewelry store. I promise I’ll have your feature ready by the end of the day.”

  It took twenty minutes to get out there. I stopped and rolled down the window to flash my press pass at the RPD uniform guarding the parking lot entrance.

  “Miss Clarke.” It was the officer who’d been at the body dump. And I couldn’t remember his name to save my shoe closet.

  I squinted, but I couldn’t see his nametag in the glare from the sun, so I stayed with the generic. “Hello again, officer.”

  “You here to trespass in another crime scene?”

  “Nice to see you again, too, officer.”

  “You can park over there.” He pointed to a stretch of concrete shaded by a line of Magnolia trees where the Channel Four van was already sitting. Damn. “A word of advice: don’t try to go inside this time. They aren’t sure they can even pull that thing out of there without the whole place falling down. I’d hate for you to get hurt.” His smirk said that last part wasn’t true, and I shook my head, having learned the hard way that some cops just despise reporters. Period.

  I looked past him at the back end of the double-cab that was buried in the side of the building.

  “That’s why I love my job, officer. Never a dull day.”

  He grunted and stepped out of the way.

  I parked next to Charlie’s van, climbed out of the car, and crossed the parking lot, picking my way around the shattered glass that littered the pavement as I waited for Aaron to finish talking to Charlie’s TV camera. He rolled his eyes when he turned to me, waving an arm at the truck.

  “Can you believe this shit?”

  “Hey, who needs stealthy?” I grinned. “Just plow through the wall in broad daylight and clean the joint out while people are still shaking from the adrenaline.”

  “That would at least be funny,” he said. “This was just a stupid mistake, best I can tell. Fool’s lucky he didn’t kill anybody. We had to transport the driver and three other people to St. Vincent’s by ambulance, but the medics said none of the injuries looked life-threatening.”

  I scribbled as he talked.

  “How does one manage to run a truck into a jewelry store on accident?”

  “From what he said while they were loading him into the ambulance, the guy came into town to buy a gift, and when he was leaving, he thought he had the truck in reverse. But it was in drive, and he plowed right through the side of the building. That thing has some horsepower. There was a sales clerk who got cut up pretty bad by the flying glass, and a couple looking at engagement rings who got hit. The guy tried to throw his girl out of the way, so he took the worst of it.”

  “The driver was alone in the truck?”

  “Yeah. It’s entertaining, but it doesn’t look like there was anything sinister here. Just an accident. Glad it wasn’t a tragic one.”

  “Non-tragic is always nice,” I said.

  “Hey, I got a message that you came in this morning,” Aaron said. “What did you need?”

  “I wanted to pick your brain about the hearing I covered this morning,” I said. “The story’s done, though, and I’m buried today.” I did want to talk to Aaron about Billings, but he didn’t have time for a sit-down in the middle of an accident scene, and I didn’t want to ask him about the burglary until I had time to find out if it fit the cat burglar’s profile.

  “Don’t have to tell me twice,” he said. “I know the feeling, and if I can brush you off, I’m going to. No offense.” His grin brought out the lines around his eyes, but his round face was eternally boyish. Aaron had two girls in college and didn’t look a day over thirty-five, if you didn’t notice the flecks of gray at his temples.

  “None taken.” I thanked him and let him go back to work while I looked around the parking lot. There was a young woman sitting alone on the curb, hands buried in her auburn curls. Her pale pink pantsuit was splattered with blood.

  I cleared my throat when I stopped next to her. She squinted up at me.

  “Can I help you?” she asked. The pale features under her smattering of freckles looked tired.

  I introduced myself and asked if she felt like telling me what had happened. Over her shoulder I saw Charlie stop on her way back to the van, poking her cameraman and pointing at me. I waved discreetly before I turned back to the pretty redhead, determined to get something good.

  “Sure.” The redhead shrugged and gestured for me to have a seat beside her. “I’m Brittany.”

  When I’d settled on the sun-warmed concrete and taken down the correct spelling of her name, she launched into her story.

  “I was helping a couple with the engagement rings,” she said. “They were really nice, and she was so excited about picking out her ring. They had been here for a while—she didn’t like anything we had in the case and wanted to look at settings and diamonds to see if we could do a semi-custom. I love the engagement rings. Everyone’s always so excited when they come in to look at those.”

  I nodded. “I can imagine. This was the couple who were taken to the hospital?”

  “Yeah. I would’ve been hit, too, but I had turned around to get a color grading guide for diamonds out of the file cabinet. I got sprayed with the glass from the case
when he crashed into it. Anyway, there it was, out of nowhere. This guy had just left with some big expensive tennis bracelet for his wife. Or his girlfriend.” She snorted. “He was a character. Big, loud dude in boots and a cowboy hat. Made a real fuss of wanting the biggest diamond bracelet we had in the place, and paid cash for it. Most of those are looking for make-up jewelry for the wife or suck-up diamonds for the girlfriend.”

  I jotted notes, trying not to laugh. I knew the type: Dallas has its fair share of big, loud cowboys. They can be colorful, for sure.

  “I see. Was this one a regular customer?”

  “No. He lives out in the sticks. I heard him say he owns one of those big farms out in Powhatan.” Her green eyes rolled skyward. “Been in his family for generations, he said. And something about his regular jeweler not having anything big enough. He wouldn’t talk to anyone but my manager.”

  “That explains the truck and the boots,” I said.

  “The truck, maybe. Those boots hadn’t ever seen a field, though.”

  I nodded, jotting that down.

  “Are those people going to be okay?” she asked. “They were so happy. Excited about getting married. And my friend Janie—she was in the way. The glass from the windows cut her up pretty badly.”

  I patted her hand. “The police spokesman said the paramedics expected everyone to be fine. Thanks for your help.”

  “No problem. I guess I can go home now. I think we’re closed.”

  I turned back toward the building, intent on finding the structural engineer, and saw a blue SUV turn into the parking lot.

  I shaded my eyes with my notebook and stared as Kyle stepped out of the driver’s seat. He paused when he saw me, then raised one arm and waved.

  “You’re just underfoot today, aren’t you? What’s this got to do with the ATF, Mr. Special Agent?” I asked when I met him halfway across the lot.

  “On the record? No comment.” He grinned. His eyes said he was happy to see me, and I smiled back. I had missed Kyle. Not that he needed to know that.

  “Really?” I arched an eyebrow at him. “All right, then. I’ll figure it out for myself.”

  He pointed to a group of men who were surveying the damage. One had a tie and wire-rimmed glasses, and two of the others had hard hats and clipboards.

  “Looks like someone did a number on this place,” Kyle said.

  “Yeah. The cops said they’re waiting for a structural engineer to tell them if they can even pull the truck out of there. I’d bet that’s one or both of the hard hat crew over there. Store clerk said the guy who did it was a real piece of work. Flashing a lot of cash and buying big diamonds.”

  Kyle’s eyebrows went up.

  “Really? Who did you talk to?”

  I turned back toward the sidewalk, but she was gone.

  “Oh. She said she was going home,” I told Kyle, scanning the parking lot for the auburn ringlets. “I guess she meant right now. I didn’t get a phone number, but I do have a name.”

  “That’s okay,” he said. “I’m sure I can find someone else. And if not, I know where to find you.”

  “Sure,” I said. “If you’re going to keep secrets, I’m going to go see what I can find out from these guys and get back to the office before deadlines eat me alive. I now owe Bob three stories, and I still have a feature due today.”

  “No rest for the wicked.” He shook his head. “Though that doesn’t really suit the Nichelle I remember.”

  I smiled a goodbye and turned back to the building. The engineers spouted a lot of technical jargon about load-bearing walls and danger of spontaneous demolition, and I wrote it down carefully. Climbing back into my car, I waved to Kyle, who was taking notes while he talked to Aaron.

  Driving back to the office, I cranked the stereo and turned my conversation with my ex over in my head. The ATF only handled accidents when they involved certain chemical spills, and as far as I knew, diamonds were way outside their area of interest. And even if they weren’t, something like that didn’t need the attention of a big shot.

  I tapped the power button on my computer, still no closer to why Kyle had been at the accident scene. Dialing St. Vincent’s media relations office for an update on the victims from the jewelry store, I skimmed my notes from the scene again as I waited for a hospital PR person to pick up the phone.

  “Those boots hadn’t ever seen a field,” I said aloud as I read the clerk’s words and pictured her rolling green eyes.

  A tobacco field, maybe? Powhatan was full of them. I’d bet my favorite sapphire Louboutins I was right. Kyle didn’t give a damn about diamonds. He was there because of the farmer.

  6.

  To catch a thief

  I hammered out the jewelry store report in record time and plunged straight from that into the feature, with Eunice’s three o’clock deadline looming. One hour. I could write a feature in an hour. I thought, anyway.

  Troy Wright and his older brother, Darryl, grew up in the same house, went to the same schools, and had the devotion of a mother who loves her sons more than life itself. In a part of Richmond that sees more than its fair share of violence, where schools are underfunded and drugs and crime are a part of everyday life for many, Troy Wright is a contender for a prestigious academic award and an honor student at Kingston High School, with dreams of studying broadcast journalism at Virginia Tech or UVA.

  Darryl was a convicted drug dealer, found shot in the head in his own home in June.

  I lost myself in the rhythm of the keystrokes, the rest of the newsroom falling away until I closed with a quote from Joyce about how proud she was of her son and checked the clock. Three-thirty. Eunice wouldn’t be too upset at a half-hour tardy after the day I’d had. Thank God it was her waiting for the piece and not Les.

  Unable to ignore my stomach any longer, I sent Eunice the story and went to the break room in search of something edible and a caffeine fix. I hoped Eunice had been in the mood to cook the night before, and that the sports desk hadn’t already demolished whatever she’d brought in. But the fridge held only a half-eaten Taco Bell burrito and a salad with a slimy green coating that didn’t look like anything a person should eat.

  “Gross,” I said, swinging the door shut.

  “Nothing good in there?” Parker asked from behind me.

  I spun to face him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that hungry,” I said. “I’ll suck it up until I get home. I have one more story to do, which will make four for today. I’m going to sleep until Monday.”

  “Damn. And I thought my days were busy when I had a column and a game story,” he said. “Anything good?”

  “My feature came out great.” I spun the bottle cap between my fingers and sipped my Coke, then smiled at him. “Speaking of my feature, I need a favor.”

  “Anything. I’ll owe you ’til the end of time for convincing me to ask Mel out. She’s…” He shrugged, flashing a grin with more lovesick than star power behind it. “She’s turned my life upside-down. And I love it.”

  I grinned back. I’d spent years dismissing Parker—an almost-major-league pitcher who looked like an underwear model—as an egotistical jerk who’d gotten his cushy star-columnist job on account of his baseball fame. But he really was a good guy, and a damned fine writer. I didn’t often dip a toe into matchmaking, but the better I got to know him, the more I saw that my friend Melanie at the city desk was the perfect balance to his personality. She was smart, serious, and pretty in a non-beer-commercial way. I’d pitched it to him as trying something different than his notch-on-the-bedpost approach to dating, and they’d been fairly inseparable since.

  “The kid I did the story on, the one whose brother was the murdered drug dealer from June?” I set the bottle on the counter. “Do you remember any of this?”

  “The drug dealer you thought I killed?”
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  I nodded. “That’s the one. His kid brother is a National Merit Finalist and wants to study broadcast sports journalism. And he thinks you’re a celebrity. So I sort of told him that maybe you’d let him shadow you for a day. He’s a really great kid.”

  “I am a celebrity.” Parker flashed the grin that made the female population of the greater Richmond area call for smelling salts. “But I like you because you don’t seem to realize that. When does he want to come in?”

  “Monday?”

  “Nothing like giving a guy a heads up, Clarke.” He dropped three quarters into the soda machine. “But sure. I’ll show him around. I can take him out to the park for practice, and to the game, too, if he wants. It’s the second to last one of the year.”

  “Thanks, Parker.”

  “It’s cool. I like kids.” He stepped aside when I moved toward the door. “Just get me the address and tell him I’ll be there to get him at about ten.”

  “I will.” I patted his arm as I passed him. “I have a ton of stuff to do, but I’ll see you around. And really, thank you.”

  “You bet. Have a good weekend, Clarke.”

  “Thanks. You and Mel doing something fun?”

  “Dinner. Movie. I think we might take a picnic out to the country tomorrow. We’re getting boring. It’s fantastic.”

  “The great Grant Parker has been domesticated.” His happiness was positively infectious, and knowing I was responsible for it gave me warm-fuzzies.

  I scrolled through police reports until I found the one on the break-in I’d overheard Detective Frustrated talking about that morning. I clicked to another screen and typed the address into Google Maps.

  “Holy square footage, Batman,” I said, looking at the satellite view of a roof that was easily five times the size of mine. It sat right on Monument, too. A house that big, in that part of town, meant one of two things: old money, or new power. I snatched up the phone and dialed the police department, waiting impatiently for Aaron to pick up.