“Why you and not us?” Efird asked.
“Let’s just say she owes me.”
“And have you already approached this actor?” Newly asked.
“No. I called you as soon as I found these invoices. Would you at least be willing to let me talk to Boyce? Then we can proceed from there. We’re looking at two cold-blooded homicides and a major corruption scandal. The role of the Asheville Police Department in solving the case won’t be minimized.”
Newly and Efird exchanged glances. They were only human. Everyone wants a shot at glory.
“All right,” Newly said. “We’ll take the script and invoices into our chain of custody. Talk to Boyce and we’ll go from there.”
I followed the detectives back to headquarters where they ran off photocopies of the invoices for me to show Boyce. Then I called her and said I needed to see her about a breaking case. Would she come to our office at six-thirty? She agreed.
When I got to the office, Violet Baker had gone, easing my guilt that I hadn’t yet told her about her brother’s death.
Nakayla had gathered all the incriminating accounting paperwork into a single pile. “I assume we don’t want Boyce to see this,” she said.
“Correct. Only what we have from Nancy Pellegatti.” I picked up the stack and noticed that the list of investors was on top. Given Woody Farmer’s statements, I felt sure the investors were unaware of the rebate scam. They knew a rebate of two and a half million dollars would be credited to the real budget, but had no idea that Osteen, Secretary Hudson, and Raymond Braxton were illegally taking another two and a half million.
One name and address on the list stuck out. Phillip Byrd of Cherokee, North Carolina.
I pointed out the name to Nakayla. “Why does he sound familiar?”
She thought a moment. “I believe he’s the tribal chief of the Eastern Band of the Cherokees.”
“Really? And in many ways they’re a sovereign nation, aren’t they?”
“To a certain degree.” She smiled. “And he could be a potential victim or a co-conspirator.”
“Yes. And what law enforcement agency has broad jurisdiction over the reservation?”
Nakayla’s smile broadened. “The FBI.”
***
Special Agent Lindsay Boyce looked through the accounting documents a third time. She, Nakayla, and I had talked for thirty minutes and I could tell the story intrigued her.
“No other explanations explain the inflated invoices?”
I shook my head. “Not that rise to a motive for murder like two and a half million dollars does.”
“And the tribal chief? You’re confident he’s not involved?”
“Yes. He brings nothing to the scam. But his investment and all of the other investments are making the movie possible and thereby inadvertently financing a criminal enterprise. I hope that’s enough jurisdictional crossover to bring you in.”
“And Asheville homicide’s on board?”
“They agree you have the best resources and bring the most prosecutorial clout if this goes to trial.”
Boyce patted the documents. “All right. But first I want to meet this star who we’re putting in front of our own cameras.”
I stood up from my chair. “Can you stay a little longer? I’ll see if I can beam him up here.”
“Yes. I’d say speed is of the essence.”
I headed for my office.
“Sam,” Boyce called. “About that other thing. Have you told her yet?”
“No.” I gestured to the papers. “When this broke we decided to wait.”
“It’s not the kind of thing you rush through,” Nakayla added.
“Please let me know when you do. I’ll talk to her if she’d like.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Thirty minutes later, Dustin Henry arrived. I’d told him we had a break in Nancy Pellegatti’s murder, but it wasn’t for public knowledge. I needed to speak with him and could he come to the office.
The former Star Fleet commander came in, excitement radiating from his face. He was surprised to see Boyce and doubly surprised to learn she was an FBI agent. I walked him through what we’d learned from Harlan Beale’s photographs as they related to what I’d found in the script in Nancy Pellegatti’s bedroom. Dustin Henry’s face grew darker with each revelation.
When I finished, he spoke only four words: “How can I help?”
I looked to Boyce. “Tell him your plan.”
She turned to Dustin Henry. “Mr. Henry, please feel free to pick it apart. I need to have confidence in it, and, most importantly, I need you to have confidence in it as well.”
“Dustin,” I said, “this is sketchy at best, but I think you offer the best chance to have Arnold Osteen incriminate himself. The dual accounting figures could be explained away by a slick attorney as innocent errors. The crime doesn’t occur until they file and receive their grant. We believe you can pose the best threat to them, a threat that can be negated for a price.”
“I’m a blackmailer,” Dustin said.
“Yes. And you’ll need to convince Osteen of that. Here’s the unwritten script for you to improvise. You and Nancy had dinner at Rhubarb, like you described. That can be verified if anyone checks. She told you that she had an argument with Braxton. That will check out. Where you deviate from the facts is that she told you she had taken some documents from Braxton’s files that she thinks prove expenses are being fabricated to increase the state’s grant. She told you she went back into the accounting office, she didn’t say how, but you assumed someone either left the door unlocked or she got a key, maybe Cassidy’s since he’d been in her office earlier that day. At Rhubarb, she gave you the invoices she said supported her allegations. We’ll give you copies to show Osteen. He’ll know they’re genuine and worry more that you have them rather than exactly how Nancy acquired them.
“You’ll tell Osteen she asked what she should do. You told her you wanted to study the documents, and it would be a mistake to go to the authorities prematurely. Then you learn she’s been shot and killed. You could be holding the motive for her murder.
“You spin your tale that you now know someone is falsifying expenses to collect unearned grant money. Since Arnold Osteen is executive producer overseeing the final budget, you’ve decided it has to be with his knowledge. You offer not to go to the police, but for a price. You know the cap on the grant is five million dollars for a twenty-million dollar production and so half the grant could be illegally obtained. For a cut, you’ll keep quiet. Otherwise, you’ll go public. You also have given backup copies to your attorney in case something happens to you.
“If Osteen tells you he doesn’t know what you’re talking about and to go ahead and release them, then it’s a good bet we’re wrong about our accusations. If he responds otherwise, tell him you’ll need some good faith money. He’ll probably say the grant won’t come through till after the movie’s wrapped. Tell him that’s his problem. You want two hundred thousand up front. You’re not sitting on this when two murders are involved.”
“And if he agrees?”
“Tell him to let you know when the funds are coming. He’ll probably want a wire transfer rather than cash, but we’ll be ready for it.” I turned to Boyce. “We will, won’t we?”
“Yes. We have an account number we can give you that will send the funds to us. We’ll have audio and video of Osteen agreeing to the deal and then proof of the execution. I also hope Osteen opens up during your confrontation with incriminating statements.”
“Where’s this happening?”
“Where are you staying?” Boyce asked.
I interrupted. “He’s at the Aloft. Same hotel as the accountant Raymond Braxton. I don’t know if that’s a good idea to have your techs wiring his room on the same premises as a prime suspect.”
“When i
s this happening?” Dustin asked.
“I’d like it soon,” Boyce said. “If we have a sit-down with the Asheville police tomorrow, I’d like to go Saturday.”
“Well, the film’s not shooting tomorrow or Saturday because of Nancy’s death,” Dustin said. “I think only the guards are on location. What about there?”
Boyce shook her head. “No. Not crowded enough. My tech team would stick out, and we have to get in place ahead of time. Osteen could come early, maybe wander through other offices.” She turned to me. “I understand your concern, Sam, but having the meeting in the same hotel as the accountant might be a plus. We could get a room either adjacent to Dustin or certainly within wireless signal reach. If we get enough evidence on the spot, the room has only one door and Osteen and Braxton can’t get out. Plus we’re close to Mission Hospital.”
Her last comment raised Dustin Henry’s eyebrows.
“Yes. I’m afraid you’ll be facing a certain amount of risk,” Boyce said. “That’s why I need to know you accept these risks, including death, and are volunteering without any pressure from the FBI or Asheville police.”
“I understand. I’ll sign something if you need me to.” Dustin winked at me. “She forgets I’ve made a career battling terrestrial and extraterrestrial villains. I’m not passing up the chance to do it for real. Let’s go get these sons of bitches.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
“You’re right, Sam. He’s a good man for the job.” Special Agent Lindsay Boyce gave her verdict after we heard the elevator doors close behind Dustin Henry.
“He’s certainly motivated.”
Boyce cleared her throat, signally an official pronouncement. She looked at me and then Nakayla. “You know I’ve got bad news for you.”
“Can’t you make an exception?” Nakayla asked.
“Look, I know you brought us this case and you brought us Dustin Henry. But I can’t have you in the room. In fact, since you found the invoices I’d rather minimize your involvement. The more visible you are, the more likely a slick lawyer will claim you planted those documents to grab a starring role in a trumped-up case against Osteen.”
I protested because Boyce would expect me to, but I really couldn’t argue. I nearly did plant the invoices and I would have lied under oath if questioned by a defense attorney.
Boyce stood. “I’ll let you know how it goes. My advice is stay clear of the movie people until it’s over. It might not be safe for Dustin Henry if he’s seen talking to you.”
As soon as she left, I phoned Newly.
“Be ready for a call from the big leagues,” I told him.
“When’s it happening?
“Probably Saturday. Boyce will request a meeting with you to review the plan. Dustin Henry will get Osteen and the accountant in his room for the demand. The Bureau will have the room tricked out with all their toys.”
“Sounds good.”
“Boyce is shutting Nakayla and me out.”
The homicide detective was silent for a few seconds. “Not the right pedigree?”
“She wants only official law enforcement involved.”
“Even the Feds have to cover their asses,” Newly said. “Maybe if you stay off your cell phone, I could check in for a little unpaid consultation. If you’re not too busy.”
Newly was going to keep me in the information loop. He didn’t have to and he risked the wrath of the FBI by doing so. He was a good cop but a better friend.
“Thanks, Newly. I’ll always take your call.” I disconnected.
Nakayla stood in front of me. “Well?”
“He’s going to share what he can.”
“Good.” She leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. “You’ve done a great job. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“I hope. I just can’t see Osteen or Braxton pulling a trigger or bludgeoning an old man with a tire iron.”
“We’ve seen Osteen’s temper,” Nakayla said.
“But he was with Marty Kolsrud when Pellegatti was shot.” That fact gave me pause. Marty. I hadn’t thought about him. An artistic temperament high in emotional octane to fuel his actors with the passion of his vision. A vision that changed Love Among the Ridges to Battle Scars. A person Osteen described as hungry. I knew Osteen was probably crooked. How well did I know the man who was his alibi?
“What is it, Sam?” Nakayla studied my face.
I wasn’t ready to share a spur-of-the-moment suspicion. “Nothing. I just want to go home with you and Blue.”
The coonhound got up at the sound of his name.
“Blue today, Violet tomorrow,” Nakayla mused.
“Yes, two colors tied to two cases.” I wrapped my arm around Nakayla’s waist and pulled her close. “We’re a colorful team, you and me.”
Nakayla laughed. “Yeah, you can’t beat black and white.”
***
The next morning we were in the office early. Nakayla reached Violet Baker to make arrangements for us to meet her. Violet asked that we join her for lunch, but Nakayla graciously declined. We didn’t want to deliver our report and then have Violet have to walk through a dining room full of people. We agreed to be at her cottage at eleven. Blue happily went with Shirley to her office.
Violet ushered us into her living room. Light from a wide bay window filled the air. The walls were a cheery pale yellow with white molding running along the ceiling and floor. Wall-to-wall cream carpet contrasted with a dark wooden coffee table and a deep purple sofa. Two matching floral-print wing-chairs completed the conversation area.
A silver coffee service and tray filled with shortbread sat on the table.
“Please sit down,” Violet instructed. “Help yourselves to coffee and some Lorna Doones.”
“Thank you,” I noticed she had only set two cups on the tray. I poured for Nakayla and me and then sat on the sofa beside her.
Violet Baker nodded her approval. “So, you have news?”
“We do,” Nakayla said. “I believe we’ve taken our investigation as far as we can. We’ve reached conclusions, some from evidence, some from deductions, and some from off-the-record conversations.”
Violet looked at me. “And you’re in agreement with these conclusions?”
“Yes. They’re consistent with the coroner’s report and all we’ve learned from our research and interviews.”
Violet leaned forward. “Then what are these conclusions?”
As Nakayla and I had discussed, she took the lead. “Your brother didn’t fall while hiking. In fact, he might not have been near any trail or cliff. Your brother died of a lethal asthma attack.”
“Asthma?”
“Yes. We suspect he didn’t have his inhaler. That medicine he told you were his breaths. He’d probably left it in his shaving kit.” Nakayla went on to describe the context of the Red Scare, the Venona Project, and the FBI’s obsession with Black Mountain College as a possible nest of Communists. Violet listened without interruption, but I saw tears form in her eyes when Nakayla described the failed tracheotomy and the cover story given to the press. The sobs came with the news of the payment to her parents and their decision to flee the mountains rather than stand up to the FBI and their threat to spread lies about their son.
Nakayla and I sat silently waiting for Violet to compose herself.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I guess Paul’s death has really preyed on my mind all these years. I didn’t realize how much.”
“What would you like to do now?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Although your brother’s death was an accident, the circumstances that triggered the attack weren’t. Responsibility and accountability can be pursued if you want to go public.”
Violet’s face registered unfiltered shock. “Why would I do that? Who’s still alive? What good would it do?”
I said nothing. She had to come to her own decision.
Violet looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “I wondered how my father had been able to send me to the university. He claimed it was from working lots of overtime at the steel mill. Now I suspect he and mother kept some of that money back for my education.” She shook her head. “What’s done is done. There is no one to prosecute, no one to hold accountable. But at least I know. I thank you for that.”
I felt uncomfortable taking satisfaction from closing this case. “Violet, if you’d like, the resident agent in Asheville is willing to talk with you.”
“Will she tell me something different from what you told me?”
“I don’t think so.”
Violet shrugged. “Then why bother?”
My cell phone vibrated. In the quiet of the room, the buzz was audible to all.
“You need to get that?” Violet asked.
I lifted my phone and saw “Newly’s Cell” on the screen. “Yes. I’ll step outside a moment.”
I walked onto the small front porch. “This is Sam.”
Newly’s voice was scarcely above a whisper. “It’s on. Tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes. Tuck and I just got out of a meeting with Boyce, her team, and Dustin Henry. Henry said Osteen’s going to Raleigh on Saturday.”
“Probably to meet Secretary Hudson.”
“Boyce says she can have everything ready for tonight. Henry will tell Osteen he’s been given information from Nancy Pellegatti and he wants Osteen and Braxton to see it before he takes it to the police. I agree with Boyce that, guilty or not, Osteen will want to see Henry.”
“What time?”
“Seven-thirty. Henry’s room.”
“That’s when I usually have a drink at the hotel’s WXYZ bar.”
“No, Sam. You’re not going to be in the hotel. If Osteen sees you, he might be spooked. Are we clear?”
“Of course. I was just yanking your chain.”
“About two homicides? I don’t think so.”
Hidden Scars Page 23
