Pawns
- A Harper Jones Novel
42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5NElNURm1L
CHAPTER 1
The full moon peered around the clouds, shining a silvery glow down onto the darkened beach. Its pale beams illuminating a shadowy figure moving slowly up a path that snaked between the dunes.
The figure was taking its time, shuffling its feet, leaving a trail with no discernible footprints. Clad in a black shirt, sweats, and a dark ballcap pulled low, the interloper glanced furtively around as they progressed up the path, intent on remaining unseen.
Behind, the waves crashed gently on the beach from the outgoing tide, covering any noises the figure made. Seconds later, the glowing moon slid back behind the clouds, returning the beach to the dark blanket of night.
After a minute, the figure reached the top of the path, which ended at an eight-foot-tall sandstone security wall. Recessed slightly into the wall was a sturdy iron-banded door with a smoked glass window, through which provided a dark, blurry view of a manicured yard.
The intruder reached the door, quickly located the security keypad, and confidently punched in a six-digit code. The door swung open smoothly on well-oiled hinges, revealing a darkened carpet of green surrounding a kidney-shaped pool that emanated a soft, azure glow. Beyond a covered deck, three sliding glass doors led into the house, the left door of which revealed a richly furnished study, where a desk lamp spilled light onto the silhouette of a man, sitting and reading intently through a sheaf of papers.
The stranger glided silently around the pool, staying in the shadows, until they reached the sliding door. With one hand, the stranger reached into a pocket, and pulled out a Sig 365 and with the other, screwed on a black cylinder to the barrel of the gun, all the while intently watching the man behind the Amish-made cherry-wood desk.
The homeowner’s study was tastefully decorated, with both side walls shelved and filled with books. Directly behind the seated man on the dark paneled wall were two framed diplomas, one showing an undergraduate degree in government studies and the other for a master’s degree in public administration, both from University of North Carolina. Facing the desk were two studded red leather stuffed chairs, their legs sinking into the plush wall-to-wall caramel saxony pile carpet.
The man behind the desk was on the older side of fifty, thin, and balding with white tufts of hair over his ears, on which perched a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. His undone burgundy tie still hung around the neck of his slightly wrinkled white Van Heusen dress shirt. Unaware of the intruder outside his door, he was intently studying some clipped papers while Chopin’s Nocturne emanated softly in the background from the sound system nestled among the thick tomes on the walls.
So involved in his reading, the man didn’t notice as the intruder quietly slide the patio door open and pad silently into the den. Slowly, the prowler advanced, the gun held tightly by his side.
As Chopin’s smooth melodies played seductively over the room, the figure reached the stuffed chairs and stopped, gazing intently at the man, the silenced gun gripped tightly and pointing at the carpet.
A moment later, the man paused his reading to shuffle to a new page and then lifted his head, suddenly noticing the dark-clad form standing motionless in front him. He immediately dropped the papers and braced his hands on the edges of the desk, his eyes locking onto the other’s. In confusion. In recognition. Slowly, the intruder raised the gun, until it was pointing straight at the man’s forehead. The man’s eyes left the prowler’s face, following the gun until it reached eye level. As it did, he suddenly lunged forward, grasping desperately at the barrel.
But he was too late. With a muffled crack, the bullet exploded out of the barrel of the Sig Sauer and tore through the man’s head like a hot knife through butter. It exited out of the back, spraying blood and gray matter on the wall behind, then smashed into the government studies diploma, shattering the wood and glass frame.
The man’s head snapped back from the impact as his upper body fell to the desk like a marionette that had its strings clipped. The murderer stepped back as the collapsing man’s arms flailed, scattering papers, pens, and other desk accoutrements onto the plush carpet. With a solid thunk, a long triangular piece of wood and metal hit the carpet as well, rolling over and revealing a floral inscription on a nameplate on one of its sides.
The assassin flicked his eyes from the sprawling body of the dead man to the oblong object, reading the inscription. “Robert J. Woodson”, it read. “Wolf Hollow Mayor”. Reaching into the pocket of his sweatshirt with a gloved hand, the killer retrieved a small object, which he placed in the growing pool of blood next to the dead man’s head. After a last long look at the dead mayor, the murderer turned and left the study, melting into the shadows as if he was never there.
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I was at the Ocean House hotel following up on a domestic violence dispute when I got the call. I was interviewing Catherine Alcott, a pretty brunette with a whale of a purpling bruise under her left eye. Her husband, Vern Alcott, a local plumber, had come home late last night drunk and in a rage. After she had barely managed to escape by hitting him over the head with a rolling pin she was using to flatten her biscuit dough, she had fled to the Ocean House, where she checked in and then this morning, she called us.
When my phone buzzed, I glanced at the name and stopped the interview when I saw that it was my boss, Chief of Police Addison Barnes III. I glanced over at my colleague, officer Mary Lou Perkins. She was my new partner, but partner in body only. After the Colton Jericho debacle with my previous sidekick, Detective Medora Dunning, Chief Barnes apparently decided that I couldn’t be trusted to work alone. However, given that he didn’t have any detectives to spare, he was in quite the quandary. So, his solution was to attach sweet Mary Lou to my hip as a protégé, learning the ropes of detective work while studying for the detective’s exam this upcoming fall. Mary Lou was young and inexperienced, but she had a quality that Barnes coveted, loyalty to him. She would be his eyes and ears, watching over his maverick detective who liked to go rogue, me.
“Can you continue?” I asked Mary Lou as I rose. “Our overlord requests my attention.”
Mary Lou raised her pretty freckled face from her notepad and nodded eagerly. Turning, she faced the huddled form of Catherine Alcott, wrapped in a soft hotel blanket, a bag of ice held beneath her eye.
“So, Catherine…” she began, with uncertainty in her voice, “may I call you Catherine?”
I rolled my eyes as I went towards the bathroom, flicking on my phone as I closed the door. This was Mary Lou’s first foray out on a detective’s call, and my first stab at mentoring.
“Detective Jones.” I answered formally, raising my phone to my ear. After the Jericho case last fall, Chief Barnes had decreed that all phone calls were to begin with a formal acknowledgement. According to department gossip, my phone etiquette, or lack thereof, had significantly contributed to Barnes’ edict.
“Jones it’s Barnes. Where are you?” He demanded tersely.
“Where do you think?” I retorted. “Where you sent me and Mary Lou. To get a statement from Catherine Alcott.”
I could sense Barnes mentally restraining himself on the other end. “I need you to wrap that up. There’s been a murder.”
I glanced over at Mary Lou, my erstwhile apprentice, as she comforted Mrs. Alcott. “What about Cabot and Sears?” I asked, referring to Wolf Hollow’s other detective pairing. “Aren’t they up next?”
Barnes’ voice softened noticeably as he replied. “They are. But for this one, I need you.” Boy, that must have been hard to say, I thought. We both knew what Barnes had left unspoken, and I knew it was killing him. Of the three current detectives on Wolf Hollow’s payroll, I was his ace. But he’d never admit it, even if it turned out to be our prestigious mayor who was the one that was killed.
Enjoying the awkward silence following his admission, I finally asked. “OK, we can finish up here in twenty. Where we going?”
Barnes paused momentarily. “The Enclave” he replied, referring to the exclusive wealthy community on the south end of Wolf Hollow beach. “The deceased is Mayor Woodson.”
Shit, I thought, wincing to myself as I tapped off the call. Guess I have to be more careful about what I think.
CHAPTER 2
Cruising down Beach Drive, the road that meandered through the dunes starting at the end of the boardwalk and winding for about a mile until it reached the entrance to the Enclave, I glimpsed the Atlantic waters to my left, sparkling in the hot morning sun. Vacationing families dotted the beach with their umbrellas, coolers, and lounge chairs, with children running and chasing the persistent seagulls. With Mayor Woodson being killed at the height of Wolf Hollow’s tourist season, this was going to have to be handled delicately and quietly, if that was at all possible. A minute later, I passed the spot where last fall I had found my ex-wife’s car abandoned after she had been kidnapped by the serial killer Colton Jericho, and a shiver ran up my spine as I recalled that frantic few days.
“You feeling okay Harper?” Mary Lou asked me skeptically. “You look like someone just walked over your grave.”
I shook my head, freeing the memories of that fateful night and looked over at her fresh face, so innocent to the barbarity that the world can dish out. “No worries,” I smiled at her reassuringly. “Just an unpleasant memory.” At the time of Angie’s kidnapping, Mary Lou had been working the crime scene at the bank, after I had unceremoniously thrown a rock through its front door.
Five minutes later, as we approached the exterior textured walls of The Enclave, I noticed two media vans parked outside. Good, I thought. Someone had the good sense to keep the media at bay at least. As we approached, I saw that one of them was WOLF media, TV-6 and radio FM 98.9, Angie’s former employer. Looking over, I recognized the golden-haired reporter in a low-cut yellow summer dress as Brianna Carlisle, who was once Angie’s main rival, and now that Angie was pursuing a new career, was the station’s queen bee. Angie will never admit it, I thought, but when she sees that Brianna is covering this, she’s gonna silently seethe for days. The other van was the media red-headed stepchild of Wolf Hollow, TV-12 and FM 100.3, otherwise known as WH Broadcasting. Their lead reporter, an older, square-jawed man in a shirt and tie with a serious face had his crew parked across the road. Comparing the two reporters, I thought ruefully, when the five o’clock news rolls around, bucko, you don’t stand a chance.
Seconds later, we pulled up to the security gate at the Enclave, and I briefly recalled the last time I had been here a little over six months ago. It was last October, and I had come here with my new partner at the time, Medora Dunning, to question “Little Frankie” Manetti, a “retired” reputed mobster from Philadelphia. There had been a murder behind his bar, the Wolf’s Den, that had had ties to one of my cold cases, Alison Newton. Manetti had been ultimately cleared in the murder, although to this day I harbored serious suspicions about his involvement in Detective Dunning’s strange disappearance.
Rolling down the window of my unmarked patrol car, I recognized the thickset guard who stepped out of the booth as Kevin, the same grouchy gatekeeper I had met back in October. Great.
“Kevin!” I tried, smiling brightly as I flashed my badge. “Guarding the pearly gates well I see!”
Kevin approached my window and bent down, scowling as he realized who I was. “Detective Jones, it’s been a while. What a pleasure.” He remarked sarcastically. “Here to bother Mr. Manetti again?” He pretended to consult a clipboard he held in his meaty paw. “Don’t see no appointment here.”
“An appointment.” I replied brightly.
“Excuse me?” Kevin glared at me as Mary Lou shifted uncomfortably. She had been riding with me long enough to be aware of the fact that my sunny personality often hid pointy daggers.
“Don’t see an appointment here.” When Kevin continued to stare at me, I rolled my eyes and sighed theatrically. “You see Kevin,” I said patiently, “you employed what’s called a double negative. When you say ‘don’t see no appointment’, that actually means that you do see an appointment.” When angry recognition began to dawn on his sweaty face, I shrugged and said, “Just in case an English major wants entrance here.” I waved at the walls in front of me. “You want to be sure there’s no miscommunication.”
As Kevin puffed up in indignation, I continued “In any event, Mr. Manetti is not our concern this time. We’re here for the mayor.” I was certain Kevin knew this all along and was just trying to be difficult. “Now if you’d be so kind, please let us through.”
Kevin stood back up without a word, muttered a curse under his breath, and stalked back to his lair. A second later, the iron gates swung slowly open, and we passed through into the land of underground electric lines, handcrafted street lanterns, and manicured lawns fronting multi-million-dollar mansions.
The main road into The Enclave was Midas Lane, which paralleled the beach going south with picturesque estates on both sides, many behind security walls and ornately gated drives. The second mansion on the beach side had a “Sale Pending” sign out front. I winced slightly as I recalled the previous owner, Brian McCole. Brian had been my ex-wife Angie’s boy toy after we had gotten our divorce. He was unfortunate enough to get caught up in the Jericho case last fall and was ultimately killed in a shootout up on Abbot’s Trail. It was of course sad that Brian was killed, but one good thing that did come out of the Jericho case was Angie and I getting back together, although strictly on a trial basis. So far, so good, as the saying goes.
Six gates later, we passed 1800 Midas Lane, home to the infamous Little Frankie Manetti. His estate was styled after a Japanese Go-tei, with bonsai trees, tiered koi ponds and waterfalls, stone walkways, and expansive gardens. The main house, I knew from my last visit, was styled in traditional Japanese fashion with a tiled roof and wide eaves, and tatami mats and sliding paper doors inside. I slowed down as I passed his gate, trying to pierce the sculpted trees beyond. Somehow, I knew that I’d be seeing Manetti again soon.
Six hundred yards further, and Mayor Woodson’s estate was painfully obvious, with the two patrol cars bracketing the open gate. I rolled down my window as I pulled up, flashing my badge to the officer leaning against his vehicle. The lanky, dark-haired patrolman pushed himself off the hood and approached, squinting at my badge.
“Detective Jones and Officer Perkins.” I said, noting his nametag as Officer Ritchie. “This is my case.”
He glanced at my badge, then bent down to look past me to my perky, blue-eyed protege, and tipped his cap. “G’morning Mary Lou.” He smiled widely, showing off a set of perfect pearly whites. “Let me know if you need anything!”
I snapped my badge closed and said sharply. “Officer Perkins is just fine. However, the detective in charge of this investigation needs someone to canvas the neighbors to see if they saw anything last night. You think you or your partner,” I nodded to the other patrol car where a chubby patrolman was tapping his phone, “can the two of you handle that?”
Officer Ritchie quickly straightened up as Mary Lou looked down, blushing slightly. “Yes sir.” He replied quickly. “Me and Kegs will get right on it.”
“Just one of you.” I reminded him as I put my car in gear. “Someone has to guard the henhouse.”
Ritchie nodded and gave me an apologetic wave. “Oh, and Ritchie?” I called out, braking suddenly. “Leave 1800 for me, I’ll take care of talking to that house.”
Time to get re-acquainted, Manetti. I thought to myself, pulling into Mayor Woodson’s long gravel driveway. See you soon.
42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWySRRSLBFY
CHAPTER 3
The mayor’s house was styled after a country log cabin, but on a much grander scale. Two stories of perfectly notched stained pine logs with picture windows fronted a huge covered front porch. Two monstrous weeping willows bracketed the house, with a small barn and fenced pasture to the left and a large, well-stocked pond to the right. Two chocolate-colored Arabians were grazing quietly, oblivious to the fate of their master.
As we pulled up and parked next to the Medical Examiner’s van and another patrol car, I stepped out and looked up into the bright sunlight. Circling the lodge about a hundred yards up were three silvery insects, their soft buzzing reaching my ears below. Drones, I thought. Damn media.
Mary Lou looked up also, then over the car’s roof at me. “Want me to shoot them outta the sky?” she asked mischievously, putting her hand on her holster.
Hey, look at that, she made a joke! I thought. Maybe she’ll be ok after all.
I shook my head, smiling slightly. “Better not. I’d like to stay on Barnes’ good side for at least a little while.” In the Jericho case, I had managed to nearly get myself fired by painting a little outside the lines. Of course, if you asked Barnes, my painting was extravagant, and extended outside the lines and all the way to another page in his coloring book.
Nodding towards the open front door beyond the deck, I said, “Let’s go see what we’re in for.”
Mary Lou followed me up the dark cherry stained stairs, wrinkling her nose at the musky smell of the Arabians. “Never understood having horses. They smell and seem like a lotta work.”
I grinned again. Mary Lou did indeed seem to be coming out of her shell a little. “They’re a status symbol.” I explained. “Some people think they’re worth it.”
We entered the mayor’s foyer, ducking under the yellow crime scene tape strung across the front door. The foyer gave into a large, recessed living area, highlighted by a massive dark leather couch facing a rough-hewn stone fireplace supporting a big screen tv. A gun rack display occupied one wall, while to the right a hallway led further into the house, from which I could hear the murmuring of voices.
Motioning in that direction, I stepped around the sofa, noting a closed laptop computer on the Noguchi glass coffee table in front of the fireplace. “Sounds like the party’s that way.”
Passing under a 12-point stuffed buck’s head, we went down a short hallway to a doorway on the left. Entering Woodson’s home office, I saw the body of the mayor bent over his desk. His arms were splayed out, head turned to the side, a large red dot marking his forehead, with a line of dried blood tracing down his face to a red pool discoloring the paperwork that he had been working on.
Maya, the Medical Examiner, was packing her kit as Mary Lou and I walked in. Behind her, an older man in a white coat that I recognized as Cavanaugh, Maya’s assistant, was at the sliding glass door leading out to the back pool deck dusting for fingerprints. A tall, thin Officer who I recognized as Riggins was scribbling notes while listening to a stocky, older woman with long black and grey streaked hair who was sitting in a red leather chair.
Maya looked up as she heard me enter. She was wearing a forest green pantsuit under her white medical coat and had her curly chestnut hair pulled back tightly in a ponytail. She raised her dark brown eyes to mine and shook her head sadly as I approached.
“Morning Harper.” She said her normally cheerful voice now muted. Maya and I had dated briefly after Angie and I had separated. After a few outings, we had mutually decided that work and play didn’t mix well, so we broke it off amicably. We’ve been good friends ever since, although there have been times where I think I’ve caught a strange look in her eye.
“Maya.” I replied, smiling briefly. I turned to Mary Lou, who was looking at the dead body of the mayor with a slightly wide-eyed expression, her mouth hanging open.
“Officer Perkins, why don’t you go see what Officer Riggins has for us.” I indicated where Riggins was talking quietly with the teary-eyed woman.
Perkins jerked her eyes away from Woodson’s corpse and nodded, pulling out a pen and pad as she walked over to Riggins.
I returned my attention to Maya, who had straightened up to all of five foot two and said, “Good to see you, considering the circumstances.”
Maya smiled wanly at me. “You too Harper. It’s been a while. How’s Angie?” And damn, a flash in her eye.
“Angie’s well. You know she quit WOLF news?” When Maya nodded absently while pecking at her tablet, I continued, “She’s actually started working on Clem’s campaign.” Clem Haskins, who had retired as the Police Chief last year, had grown bored and decided to un-retire and run for mayor of Wolf Hollow this upcoming fall. Given Angie’s successful media background, he had immediately brought her on as his Public Relations Manager for his mayoral campaign. And now, with the mayor out of race, Clem’s chances suddenly improved considerably.
Maya cocked her head. “No, I hadn’t heard. That’s great that she’s found a new career interest. Looks like Clem has one less opponent in the race now, unfortunately.” She paused, then asked, “And how are you two doing?”
And there it was. I shrugged, which if Angie were here, would have earned me a swift kick to the shin. “Doing okay. Taking it slow, see how things go.” I hadn’t told Angie that Maya and I had gone out, and I wanted to keep it that way. With her suspicious mind and temper, it wouldn’t go well if she found out that I had dated a co-worker. Which actually would be pretty rich, considering that we divorced because she was having an affair with her boss at the news station.
Maya appeared to be lost in thought for a moment, then smiled and said, “Good to hear, I’m glad for the two of you.” Bullshit, or maybe that was just my ego wanting to be stroked. Putting the table down, she turned her attention back to the desk where Woodson’s gradually stiffening body lay.
“Cause of death I would say is fairly obvious. One shot, bullet to the head. Exited the back of his skull, then went through his diploma and into the wall,” She indicated the still-hanging, blood spattered diploma behind his desk, with the shattered glass still in the frame. “The bullet I’m guessing is still in the wall, I’ll have Cavanaugh dig it out for you when he’s done dusting for prints.”
I nodded. “TOD?”
“Time of death based on liver temperature I estimated as fairly early last night, between eight and twelve pm.” She was about to continue her findings, but I held up my hand to stop her.
“Hold on Maya.” I said, turning to Mary Lou, who glanced over when she felt my attention turn to her. “Mary Lou? Would you come here?”
Mary Lou smiled at the lanky Riggins, who was clearly disappointed to lose her attention, and came over, a curious look on her lightly freckled face.
I backed up a step from the corpse splayed over the desk and opened my hands. “What, if anything, can you draw from this crime scene?” I asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.
Mary Lou paused, then turned to the desk, and thought for a minute. Then, “He was shot from the front, obviously, but he fell forward onto his desk.” She waved her pen at Woodson’s corpse. “Which suggests he was standing behind his desk as the murderer approached.” She went over and stood behind the red chairs. “If Woodson lunged forward, then he must have thought he could reach the gun. So the killer was close, maybe an intimate kill?” She looked at me. I nodded for her to continue.
“Has anyone looked at Mr. Woodson’s surveillance cameras yet?” She asked.
I looked at Maya, who shook her head. “Not yet. But the boys out back,” she nodded past the lanai door, “found what looked like shuffled footprints in the sand leading up to the gate at the back of his yard.”
“And Mr. Woodson had some sort of electronic security back there?”
Maya nodded. “Camera and coded keypad. Cavanaugh already dusted the pad for prints.”
Mary Lou pursed her lips and nodded. “So, if we assume the killer came through the back gate, then he or she must have either had the code to get in or had some sort of advanced technology to bypass the keypad. Which means either the killer or someone who knew the killer had access to the code, or the killer was a professional.”
“Or both.” I finished. “The killer chose to take the shot to the head. Which means the killer was looking directly into the eyes of Woodson. Most people would take the shot to the torso. The chest. Much easier target to hit. But our killer raised his gun,” I made my fingers into a gun, raised them slowly, and pointed them at Mary Lou’s forehead. Then, looking into her now-large blue eyes, I clicked my thumb and said, “looked right at him, and pulled the trigger as he was desperately lunging forward. Steady hand, good shot. Cold and calculated.”
Mary Lou had gone still, her gaze fixated on my hand. I dropped my hand, breaking the spell. Then she looked down at the blown-out back of Woodson’s head. “The poor mayor.” She whispered. “He never stood a chance.”
I followed her gaze to the mayor’s head, and just then noticed an object sitting in the pool of blood. A small, wood-carved object that looked suspiciously like a pawn from a chess set.
Crouching down, I looked at it closer. “What do you make of that?” I asked Maya.
“If I were guessing, it’s a chess pawn.” She replied, confirming my thought. “Given that it’s sitting in the pool of dried blood and not scattered with the rest of the papers,” she nodded towards the floor, “I’d say the killer placed it there.”
“Strange.” I thought aloud, gazing at the pawn’s roughly hewn edges. “Thoughts?” I asked Mary Lou, glancing up at her.
Mary Lou looked around the room slowly and spied a marble chess set on the shelf below the mayor’s stereo system. “Just that set over there.” She indicated towards the bookcase. “And that one’s completely different, and it has all its pieces.”
I nodded in agreement and looked at Maya. “The boys find another set anywhere in the house?”
She shook her head. “They haven’t done a thorough search yet, but when they were clearing the cabin, they didn’t see anything.”
I stood up, not taking my eyes off the bloody pawn. “So, it appears that the killer brought it with them. The pawn has a purpose, to communicate something. But what?”
Both Mary Lou and Maya were silent.
I broke my gaze from the pawn and looked at the floor, where some of the papers from Woodson’s desk had settled after he had collapsed. Snapping a pair of nitrile crime-scene gloves on, I crouched down and reached over to pick up one of the crumpled sheets.
Standing back up, I skimmed the contents. It was an appeal from Sternwood Ventures to allow them to start construction back up on Merritt Shores, which I recognized as the proposed development north of Coral Cove, where Angie and I have our house. Sternwood had big plans for that corner of land nestled in the crook between the mouth of the Merritt River and the Atlantic Ocean. High-end condominiums. Restaurants. And most importantly, a casino. Since North Carolina law prohibits commercial casinos, Sternwood had entered into a land-lease agreement with the Waccamaw Siouan, one of the eight state-recognized tribes of North Carolina, whose land it was. The terms stated that while the Waccamaw retained ownership of the land and would technically own the casino rights, Sternwood would be allowed to build on the land. The Waccamaw would in turn get a portion of the revenue from the casino and rent for the land from Sternwood, while Sternwood would also get revenue from the casino, as well as all of the profits from the other business ventures in Merritt Shores.
It had been big news last summer when Sternwood had finally begun construction, and almost immediately, had stumbled upon a cache of human remains, as well as beaded jewelry and old shards of pottery. Construction was immediately halted, and after researchers and an archeologist had been summoned from the University of North Carolina, it was found that the diggers had unearthed a burial mound attributed to the Waccamaw Siouan.
Known as “The People of the Fallen Star”, the Waccamaw who had once roamed these hilly forests, had lived on this land, but after the deal with Sternwood was struck, had moved to a tepee and cabin village some ten miles up past Channelwood Road. They were hoping that with the new revenue stream from Merritt Shores, they could build and expand on their new home in the forests outside of Wolf Hollow. But now…
As soon as the Waccamaw heard of the burial mound, they immediately filed a protest against the construction. The county judge, the honorable Marcus Fenlow, had agreed, and he signed a cease-and-desist order to suspend Sternwood’s construction along the Merritt River. Since then, the archeologist and his grad students had discovered three more burial mounds in what was rapidly appearing to be the remains of an historic Waccamaw village. Sternwood of course appealed, offering to move the burial mounds to a location near their village, and to erect monuments in the future development of Merrit Shores, honoring the Waccamaw ancestors. The Waccamaw elders refused, insisting that because of the newly discovered burial mounds, the land should not be built on, regardless of any contracts. The land was now sacred ground, and should not be desecrated by the constructs of the white man.
I placed the paper back on the floor where I had found it and turned to Maya. “When Cavanaugh is finished taking prints, have him gather up the papers Woodson was working on.” I indicated the Sternwood paper as well as the other files strewn around under his body on the desk blotter.
“Got it.” Maya replied. “Good to transfer the body then?”
I nodded. “Nothing more to get from it here.” I looked at Woodson’s open laptop perched precariously on the edge of the desk. “I’m assuming his computer is password protected?”
“Yep.” Maya replied while typing a text out on her phone. “I’ll bag and tag it and bring it to Twiz.” Twiz is our one-man IT department, Arseni Ujenov, better known as Twiz for his habit of always having a rope of Twizzler candy hanging out of the corner of his mouth.
“Okay. Tell him to text me when he gets in and can access the security system. And don’t forget to get the other laptop in the living room.”
“Will do. Anything else you need from me then?” She asked questioningly.
I shook my head. “Not much more you can tell us here. Let me know when Cavanaugh gets information from the bullet in the wall also.” I turned to Mary Lou, who had been following all of this silently.
“Anything from the help?” I asked, referring to the wizened woman sitting patiently in one of the red leather chairs, eyes cast down, a damp wad of tissue in one hand. Officer Riggins had left her there while he had drifted over to the fireplace to take a phone call.
Mary Lou reached into her pocket and pulled out her pad, where she had scribbled some notes. Pushing back a lock of hair, she read, “Rose Redstone, age sixty-seven. Comes in three times a week to do cleaning, laundry, dishes. She’s been working for Mayor Woodson for four years, since his divorce. Came in as usual at eight this morning. Started cleaning, assuming Mr. Woodson was either still in bed or at his office. Came in here, saw the body, and called 911.”
I nodded. “Good job, Mary Lou.” I then walked over to Rose, who raised her tear-stained eyes as I approached, with Mary Lou trailing slightly behind. Looking at her dark brown eyes and swarthy skin, I couldn’t help thinking that she looked familiar somehow.
“Mrs. Redstone?” I asked gently. When she nodded, I crouched down to her level and continued. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions”?
Rose kept her eyes down towards the floor as she nodded imperceptibly.
Gently, I started her out with a softball question. “Was Mr. Woodson a good boss?”
Rose nodded, sniffing. “Mister Woodson was a very nice man. He’s considerate. He pays well.” A pause. “Who would do this to him?” She looked up briefly towards his desk, where his lifeless body lay sprawled out, then immediately looked away.
“I don’t know, but that’s what we’re going to find out.” I reached for her hand tenderly. “Can you tell me, has anybody been angry with him, that you have seen?”
Rose shook her head, then stopped. “He had one visitor last week when he was home. I could hear him talking loud, arguing with someone. I went to see if Senor Woodson was okay, but he was already shutting the door.”
Damn. “Did you happen to see who it was?” I asked hopefully.
She shook her head. “I just saw man through window walking away down driveway to front gate.”
“Can you describe him?”
Rose shrugged. “Big man. Older. Black hair. When he spoke with Senor Woodson, he had big accent.”
Accent? Taking a stab, I asked, “Did you see his car, by chance?”
She nodded. “Big, black, fancy car. And he had a driver, waiting outside. Tall, in a suit.”
And if I were betting at one of Sternwood’s casinos right now, I’d lay every cent I have on who Woodson’s’ visitor was.
Switching topics, I ventured, “What about his ex-wife, does she ever come by?”
Rose looked up at me and responded in her soft, lilting voice. “Sometimes. Miss Amelia comes to argue about money. He shuts the door, but I can still hear her.” She paused, smiling slightly. “She is very loud.”
I glanced up briefly at Mary Lou, who caught my eye as she was scribbling on her pad.
Looking back at Mrs. Redstone, I asked “Do you remember the last time you saw Miss Amelia here?”
Rose closed her eyes for a moment, trying to recall. “Two weeks ago? Maybe three?” Suddenly she snapped her fingers and opened her eyes. “It was the day after that storm hit us. Miss Amelia had lost power, and she came here, very angry.”
Three and a half weeks ago, Tropical Storm Candice, I recalled. And what the hell did she expect her ex-husband to do, bribe the damn electric company? The whole town was out of power for three days!
Unable to think of any more questions, I wound up with a cliché.“Mrs. Redstone, please forgive me, but I have to ask. Where were you last night between the hours of nine and twelve pm.?
Rose smiled slightly, as if expecting this. “I had dinner with my daughter at her house. Then we watched a movie. On Golden Pond.” She looked up at me. “You should watch it. It was very good.”
I smiled back at her. “I certainly will. And what is your daughter’s name?”
“Kitty Thunderhawk. She lives just outside of Wolf Hollow. 429 Snakeskin Road.”
Kitty Thunderhawk! I thought something about Rose looked familiar! I had met Kitty last fall when Angie was kidnapped. She worked as a security guard at WOLF Media, where Angie had been their lead field television reporter. Kitty had helped me with the station’s security cameras, which in turn had led me across the street, where I was forced to break into the North Carolina Bank and Trust building…shaking my head, I snapped back to the present.
Not able to think of any more questions, I straightened up, releasing her hand. “Anything else you can think of that might help us, Mrs. Redstone?”
She shook her head, sniffling into her tissue. “What will I do now?” She suddenly wailed. “I no have work!”
I winced as I handed her my card. “If you think of anything that can help us catch Mr. Woodson’s killer, please call me.” She nodded, accepting the card with a trembling hand.
Suddenly on impulse, I cocked my head, recalling my conversations with her daughter Kitty. “Mrs. Redstone?” I asked, knowing the answer full well. “Are you by chance a member of the Waccamaw tribe?”
Placing my card in a small drawstring leather bag, she nodded, while looking at me curiously. “Yes, I am. Why do you ask?”
I squatted down so that we were back at the same eye level. “Mrs. Redstone, are you aware of the…disagreement that is currently ongoing between your tribe and Sternwood Ventures?”
Instantly, Rose’s eyes hardened at the mention of Sternwood Ventures. Then she nodded shortly and looked away. “Of course,” she said quietly. “That company does not respect our ancestors. Our heritage. Those mounds prove that the land is ours. They should not build.”
I nodded slowly, noting her take on the situation. “Did you know that the mayor was poised to rule on whether Sternwood could keep building out at Merritt Shores?” I indicated the blood-spattered papers scattered on the floor.
Rose’s eyes widened slightly. “No sir. Mister Woodson did not talk with me about his work. I did not know…” her voice trailed off uncertainly.
42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOC8nVg00lu
“Officer Riggins here,” I nodded towards Riggins, “will give you a ride home if you need it.”
Rosa nodded again as I sighed and turned away. “Poor woman.”
Mary Lou looked at Rosa in silent agreement. “Any idea who the visitor was?”
“Oh yeah, I do.” I replied grimly, turning towards the door, motioning for her to follow. “An old friend.”
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