“Sorry. I was in the back.”
“Love the hair.” Georgia smiled.
“Oh, thanks.” The woman fluffed her hair on one side. “I did it over the weekend.”
“It makes a statement,” Georgia said. “Are you Jackie?”
“How did you know?”
“Gail told me I should talk to you.”
“She did?” Jackie’s tone made Georgia think the two women weren’t best friends.
Georgia nodded. “You sold a yurt to a man, I think around Christmas. His name was Scott Allen Jarvis. Do you remember him?”
She worried a hand through her hair. “The name sounds familiar.”
Georgia didn’t say anything.
“Jarvis, Jarvis . . . Hey. Isn’t that the man who shot the woman a few weeks ago?”
“You keep up with the news.”
“It was horrible. Never in a million years did I think I’d see something like that in Chicago. In Grant Park.” Her eyes went wide. “Wait a minute. Is that the guy I sold the yurt to?”
“I’m pretty sure it is. I have some questions about him.”
Jackie went rigid. Then she hugged her arms. “Oh my God. Oh my God.” Her voice rose. “Am I in trouble?”
“Don’t worry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Are you a cop?”
Georgia tried out her most reassuring smile. “No. I’m an investigator. Private.”
Jackie’s eyes were still as round as plates. “Holy shit.”
“I’m working for the family of Dena Baldwin. The woman who was killed.”
Jackie bit her lip. “Of course, I remember that sale. Happened right after I started. I got a huge commission. Biggest one I’ve gotten.”
“Can you pull up the bill of sale on your computer so we can check the details?”
“Sure.” She clicked a few keys and waited. Then: “Okay. Here it is.”
“When did he buy it?”
“December twenty-first.” Jackie said. The pitch of her voice went down, and she seemed calmer.
“How much did he pay for it?”
Jackie’s gaze went to the bottom of the monitor. “Hold on. There’s a second page.” She pressed a key. Then she blew out a breath. “Wow. Over four thousand.”
“Nice Christmas present for himself.”
“It was really high-end. All kind of extras. But—wait a sec. I don’t think he paid for it.”
“Is that so?” Georgia leaned over and propped her elbows on the counter.
Jackie fingered one of several earrings in her left ear. “He was with a woman.”
Georgia dug out a photo of Kitty she’d found on Google when she did a background check. “Is this the woman?”
Jackie took the photo and studied it. “I can’t swear to it, but I don’t think so.”
Georgia was taken aback. She had been confident that Kitty had bought Jarvis the yurt. “Are you sure?”
“The woman with him was . . . different.”
“Can you describe her?”
“Lemme see. She seemed average. You know, height and weight. No makeup.”
“What color hair?”
Jackie looked out, trying to concentrate. “I don’t know. She was wearing a hat. You know, one of those wool caps.”
“Eye color?”
“I couldn’t tell.”
“Clothes?”
“Sorry. She was wearing a coat.”
“Brand? Color?”
“It wasn’t a North Face. But it was gray.” She cocked her head. “Maybe his girlfriend. Did he have one?”
“I’m not sure. Were they—was she affectionate? Holding hands, that kind of thing?”
“I don’t—wait. Now I remember. No. He went off to look at sleeping bags.” She waved vaguely toward another part of the store. “And she paid.” Jackie shot Georgia a triumphant look, as if she’d solved a particularly knotty problem.
Georgia’s pulse raced. “Did she use a credit card?” A bill of sale could be subpoenaed. The credit card number would be on the paperwork.
Jackie frowned. “No. Says here it was cash. Oh, right. She paid with a check.”
A check could be subpoenaed, too. “You’re sure?”
Jackie nodded.
“Who ordered all the add-ons? I mean it cost four thousand dollars, right?”
“Right. Like I said, it was my best commission. Lemme think. I think they had a list when they came in. Oh wait, I remember. They kind of argued about a couple of things. She thought they weren’t necessary. But he wanted them.”
“What were they . . . those couple of things?”
“Hold on.” She went back to the computer monitor and scrolled down. “Um . . . extras, mostly. Looks like he got a yurt cover. For the outside. And a stove inside. Oh, and an extra window.”
“So he got everything he wanted?”
“Pretty much.”
Georgia pulled out Kitty’s photo again. “And you’re sure it wasn’t this woman?”
She grimaced. “I just don’t know. I only saw them for a few minutes.”
“Did you hear them call each other by name?”
Jackie shook her head. “Not that I remember.” Her cheeks flushed. “I’m not helping you, am I?”
“You’re doing great. Really.” Georgia smiled. “Okay, aside from the address on record, did they talk about where the yurt was actually going to be set up?”
Jackie shook her head. She looked like she might cry. “I’m so sorry.”
“Does the expression ‘beef jerky’ mean anything to you?”
“Huh?”
Georgia repeated it.
“The stuff you eat? Um, no.”
“Neither of them mentioned it when they were here?”
“I don’t remember. Then again, why would I?”
Georgia smiled her thanks, gave her a card, asked her to call if anything else came to her. On her way out Jackie exclaimed, “Hey, I just remembered. He said he would be taking it up north. A lake, he said. Near the family cabin.”
Georgia backtracked, instantly focused. “Did he say where ‘up north’? What lake?”
A distraught expression came over Jackie. “I’m sorry.” She rubbed one hand up and down the other arm.
“It’s okay.” Georgia cracked a joke. “There are only about a thousand lakes up north.”
But Jackie’s face collapsed. She looked as if she’d missed the last train out of Dodge and had to face the bad guys alone.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Georgia, buoyed by enthusiasm, couldn’t wait to get home. Finally, she was making progress. She’d ferreted out information she was sure the FBI didn’t have. Now she had to figure out how it related—if it did—to her case.
A woman bought Jarvis a yurt that he intended to live in “up north.” Probably either Wisconsin or Minnesota. Again, she thought, that didn’t sound like a man on the verge of killing himself. It sounded like a man with a plan to escape and survive—albeit off the grid—once he killed Dena Baldwin. So who was the woman who bought and paid more than four grand for his yurt? A girlfriend? A partner? Was she planning to share the yurt with him? Moreover, what woman has four thousand bucks to shower on a boyfriend? Where was she now and why didn’t the police or FBI know about her? There hadn’t been even the whiff of a rumor about a girlfriend. Just Jarvis’s sister. Who might turn out to be the buyer after all.
But whoever it was wrote a check. And once Georgia had a copy of the check, a lot of those questions would be answered. Georgia pulled to the side of the road and called Paul Kelly.
His secretary answered. What was her name? Joan. That was it.
“Oh, hi, honey,” Joan said after Georgia asked for him. “He’s not here. He’s in court.”
Georgia was surprised. Paul had always seemed more of a transactional lawyer than a trial attorney. Still, even the best business lawyer had to show up in court occasionally. She asked Joan to have Paul call her.
“Is it an emergency?�
��
“Well, no. But it’s important that we talk today.”
“Sure, honey.”
• • •
Georgia invited Jimmy over that evening, and when he arrived, she filled him in on her day. “I’ll tell you all the details later.”
“Later?”
She went to her laptop and clicked to her favorite pizza delivery place. “I feel like celebrating. How are mushrooms and bacon?”
“Bacon is your favorite way to celebrate?” Jimmy asked.
She finished ordering and paying for it online. “Second favorite.”
“Oh? What’s the first?”
“I seem to remember an IOU you have on me.”
A smile came across his face. His eyes sparkled. “I remember.”
“Well, this woman pays her debts.” She checked the time. “We have forty-five minutes.”
• • •
When the delivery boy buzzed her apartment, Georgia threw on some sweats and a T-shirt and answered the door. She tipped the guy and inhaled deeply as he handed it over. There was nothing better than the aroma of cheese, fresh piecrust, and bacon, all mixed together. She got out a beer for Jimmy, Diet Coke for her, and carried everything into the bedroom. The sight of Jimmy, just coming out of her bathroom, almost made her drop the box. He was wearing her red satin bathrobe. It barely covered his chest and stopped at mid-thigh. Her reaction made him dive under the covers.
She giggled. “Nice try. But the color is all wrong on you.”
“In that case”—he sat up and slipped off the robe—“this is a clothing-optional pizza party.”
“I’ll go for that.” Georgia set the pizza box on the bed, stripped off her clothes, and got under the covers beside him. She opened the box, pulled off two slices, and handed one over. “Try not to spill, okay?”
“What . . . you don’t like to roll around in bed with crumbs and bacon bits?”
She leaned over and kissed him. “You’re more fun. To roll around with.”
He took a swig of beer.
She bit into her slice. Few foods were as unhealthy as pizza, but the rich, savory combination of cheese, tomato, and piecrust was addictive.
“So, here’s what I think,” Georgia said after wolfing down two pieces. “If Paul can subpoena the check that paid for the yurt, we’ll finally get some answers.”
“It shouldn’t be a problem to get a subpoena.”
“I know,” she said happily.
Jimmy reached for another slice. “You know, I’ve been thinking about something.”
Georgia slid the empty pizza box to the floor and snuggled closer. She started to lightly caress the hair on his chest, making little circles with her thumb and forefinger.
“Hey. I’m still eating,” he said.
“I know,” she murmured.
“What if ‘beef jerky’ isn’t the snack that comes in those packages?”
Georgia stopped stroking his chest hair. “What do you mean?”
“It’s always been a weird clue. Like a puzzle we’re supposed to figure out. What if ‘beef jerky’ is code for something like a weapon? Or even a person?”
Georgia sat up, all business now. “Well, Jarvis was military. He did two tours in Iraq.” She pulled the sheet up to her neck. “Is there a brand of military grenade called Beef Jerky? Or maybe a piece of equipment?”
“Never heard of anything, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
“You think his girlfriend might know? Maybe it has something to do with the yurt.”
“It’s possible.”
She looked over. “You know, something else has been bugging me about the yurt. Why would Jarvis want to kill himself? I mean, the guy had a brand-new yurt to look forward to. He was taking it to a remote lake up north. He doesn’t sound like a man who wanted to kill himself.”
He gulped down the rest of his beer. “So you’re thinking someone set him up? Someone by the name of ‘Beef Jerky’?”
“It’s worth pursuing. Great work, Sac. I’m on it.”
He set the empty beer bottle on the nightstand. “You don’t have to do it right away. I have other good ideas. Ones that we can do. Together.”
But Georgia climbed out of bed and headed into the living room to retrieve her laptop.
Jimmy sighed.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Georgia googled “IEDs and beef jerky.” There were no connections. She tried “Bushmasters and beef jerky.” Nothing. Dogged determination kept her at it. She had no idea what time it was when Jimmy’s light snoring told her he was out. She checked the clock. After nine. She’d been working for more than an hour. And she hadn’t heard from Paul Kelly. She leaned over Jimmy and picked up her phone, which woke Jimmy up.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just need to call Paul Kelly.” She took the phone to her side of the bed and punched in Kelly’s number.
Jimmy grunted and started to roll away from her, presumably to go back to sleep. Then he stopped. “Hey. Did you ever talk to JoBeth?”
“JoBeth? Where did that come from?” Georgia looked over.
“She called me a few days ago.”
“You? Why?”
“She’s been leaving messages for you but says you never call her back. She really wants to connect with you.”
“Right.”
“But you don’t want to connect with her.”
Georgia put the phone down. “Look, Jimmy. I know you’re trying to help. And I know you have a close relationship with your mother. And your aunt. And everyone else in your very big, fat Greek family. The very idea that family members might be estranged from each other is inconceivable to you.” She pulled the sheet and blanket up to her chin. “And to be honest, I miss Vanna and Charlie. I keep telling myself I shouldn’t be upset by a girl half my age. But then I realize this isn’t any girl. Vanna’s been through hell and back.” She hesitated. “And we’re sisters.”
“With a mother.”
“See, that’s the thing. She has a mother. I don’t.”
“But you do.”
“I can’t go there, Jimmy. She walked out on me.”
“And you survived.” He sat up and cupped her face in his hands. “You’re a wonderful human being. Kind and considerate. You don’t have a mean bone in your body.”
“My backbone.”
He inclined his head.
“It’s become very strong. And cruel.” She thought she was making a joke, but it fell flat.
“Not cruel. Maybe stubborn . . .”
“Listen to me. I’ve lived all my adult life without a family. Then Vanna showed up. I thought it would be the two of us. And then there was Charlie. And you.”
“Us against the world.”
“I don’t know if I’d—”
The trill of her phone cut her off. She glanced at the screen. “I’ve got to get this. It’s Paul.”
Jimmy let her go and fell back against the pillows.
“Hey, Paul. I was just calling you.” She told him about the yurt and how it was paid for. “Can you get a subpoena for the check? It would move things forward in a big way.”
She listened to his response. “That long?” A pause. “Fucking bureaucracy. But yeah. Go ahead. And thanks.”
“Now I need to tell you something,” Kelly said. “Dena’s father, Carl Baldwin, is AWOL.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He disappeared. And no one knows where he is.”
“How do you know?”
“Erica was trying to get some finances settled, but he never returned her messages. His assistant called today—the guy has no idea where he went. Erica and I agree that you need to get yourself to DC and find him.”
“But I’m just getting somewhere here.”
“Look, Georgia, whatever is going on with Carl Baldwin could be more important than a subpoena. And Erica wants you to go. I just got off the phone with her.” He paused. “W
asn’t there a man associated with Dena you needed to interview in DC?”
“Yes. Willie Remson. He lives outside DC.”
“Well?”
Kelly was right, Georgia realized. She planned to go to DC at some point. And now wasn’t a bad time. Zach Dolan and his team of hackers were still doing background checks on ResistanceUSA group members. And Kelly had just told her a subpoena could take as long as a month to process and deliver. She started to warm to the idea. She could kill three birds with one stone: she could look into Carl Baldwin’s disappearance; interview Remson; and put some distance between JoBeth and herself.
“By the way, Georgia . . .”
“Yes, Paul?”
“Be careful when you’re nosing around DC. It could be dangerous.”
“I’ll take precautions.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The next day Georgia pulled out of the rental car lot at Reagan National Airport equipped with her GPS, a map, and her Baby Glock, which she’d checked during the flight. She’d only been to Washington once before, on the obligatory high school trip, and she didn’t remember much about it. She’d been well into drinking and sex at the time, both of which she’d managed to do even though they’d been supervised. Apart from a trip to both New York and Boston for training when she was a cop, she hadn’t spent any time on the East Coast.
As she headed down the George Washington Memorial Parkway, she marveled at how warm the winter temperatures were compared to Chicago’s. She was reminded that they called DC a swamp not only for its politics. She passed the Washington Monument and crossed a bridge into the city, where the Lincoln Memorial greeted her. Spotless and glistening white from a distance, the monuments gave “good face,” she thought. Appropriate for the capital of the country.
She’d booked a hotel room not far from Baldwin’s Kalorama office, or so Google Maps told her. But as she navigated from Georgetown to Connecticut Avenue, an oppressive, claustrophobic feeling pressed down on her. It was the density. Homes and buildings were sandwiched together without enough space between them. The Midwest, with its flat prairies that provided unlimited views to the horizon, as well as the expanse of Lake Michigan, gave Chicago a sense of vastness. Even the spaces between houses were ample. But here in DC a person could easily spy on their neighbor just by peering out a bedroom window. She wondered how people here functioned with such an unrelenting violation of their personal space.
High Crimes Page 14
