Winter Frost (A Chris Matheson Cold Case Mystery Book 2) Page 23

  “Good evening, Ripley.”

  “Your daughter and mine are putting me through the wringer.”

  “Let me guess,” he said. “They’re eating non-stop and doing a romcom marathon.”

  “We just got our second delivery of pizza. I have three gallons of ice cream in the freezer, and they’re on their third movie.”

  “And you still have your sanity?”

  “I wouldn’t if I didn’t get a break this morning to visit a crime scene,” she said.

  “You didn’t say anything to Katelyn—”

  “Of course not. They thought nothing of my going out on a call. Madison sees me get called out all the time. But today, she was horrified that I had the nerve to call Grandma to come babysit. Usually, it’s no big deal. She loves it when my mom comes over. Today was different. Now, Katelyn knows the awful truth about Madison not being allowed to stay home alone.”

  “I’m surprised Madison didn’t die from embarrassment,” Chris said.

  “You’ll be glad to know that they have concluded that Doris is cooler than my mother.”

  “I’d believe it. When was the last time your mother captured and tortured two hitmen?”

  “I heard about that,” Ripley said. “Way to go, Doris.”

  “Mom threatened to drill holes in their penises.”

  “It isn’t like they were going to need them after she put their bodies through the woodchipper,” Ripley said. “Even if Doris’s interrogation method was less than civilized, we got very useful information. The goons from Baltimore claimed Stu’s assistant hired them to kill you. They said she used the name of Jenn. That’s the same name Lurch mentioned when he told Murphy that a client had ordered a rush job to steal the evidence from the FBI lab. I don’t think we’ll have any problem getting a warrant to bring Stu Dunleavy’s assistant in for questioning. If we’re lucky, she’s not in love with the guy and will flip on him.”

  “Jenn was at the Dunleavy home when we got there this morning,” Chris said. “I’ll bet they had just finished searching Blair’s room and destroyed anything that could help us. They’ve been one step ahead of everyone throughout this whole case.”

  “Not necessarily,” Ripley said. “They didn’t get Blair’s body. The medical examiner found a massive dose of flurazepam hydrochloride in her system.”

  “That’s—”

  “Sleeping pills. Four times the regular dose. The medical examiner said she had to be unconscious when she went into the lake. Then, the killer stepped on her back to hold her under the water until she drowned.”

  “No doubt,” Chris said, “Blair was murdered.”

  They ended the call with Chris asking Ripley to give Katelyn a hug from him. He felt confident that his former partner would keep his oldest daughter safe and secure.

  At least, he told himself that.

  He heard Helen climbing the stairs to his room before he saw her. She crossed the room and draped an arm across his shoulders. From his seat, Chris lay his head back to let her kiss him on the lips.

  “I should go,” she said softly. “Sierra texted that she’s home and I don’t want to leave her alone all night.”

  “I don’t like the idea of her being alone either.”

  She looked out the window. “They’re not like the two we caught this afternoon. They look like they have police or military training.”

  “I noticed the same thing.”

  “I talked Doris and Elliott out of sneaking over and stuffing a potato up their tailpipe.”

  Chris jumped when his phone rang. The caller ID indicated that it was Ray. He put the call on speaker phone. “Talk to me, Ray.”

  “I guess when Stu Dunleavy realized who he was up against, he decided to call in the big dogs,” Ray said.

  “Big dogs?” Helen asked.

  “That SUV is licensed to the Burnett Security Agency.”

  “Burnett,” Chris said. “That’s who Stu Dunleavy was telling Jenn to call to take care of a matter when we got there this morning.”

  “Paul Burnett,” Ray said. “His company advertises itself as a security company. He’s one of Washington’s biggest cleanup men.”

  “Rent a goon?”

  “More or less,” Ray said. “Everyone who’s anyone in Washington goes to Burnett to take care of their problems. Law enforcement on Capitol Hill knows about him. He’s like Teflon because he knows where all the bodies are buried—and I’m talking literally. Anytime he starts to get into hot water, all it takes is one phone call to a judge whose troublesome wife Burnett made disappear—Well, you get the picture.”

  “Is Stu Dunleavy a client of his?” Helen shrugged her shoulders. “Since he hired the other two goons …”

  “Actually, it’s a little weird that he had his assistant called Tony and Ralph,” Ray said. “Yeah, Stu is connected to that cold case in Baltimore where Ralph’s print was left, but, from my research, he’s been using Burnett exclusively for the last several years. Leban Slade uses Burnett to cleanup all his messes.”

  “Leban Slade as in Slade Industries?” Chris asked.

  “The one and only.”

  “Slade has been figuring prominently in this case,” Chris said. “Murphy’s brother-in-law Tristan tracked a courier who may or may not have been delivering classified information to Slade Industries. A couple of hours later, two men tried to kill him.”

  “Try this on for size,” Ray said. “Leban Slade is Stu Dunleavy’s biggest client. According to chatter I found across the Internet, Stu Dunleavy brags about being Leban Slade’s go-to guy for fixing things when he gets into trouble—personally and professionally.”

  “So, if Daniel Cross, who’s a hair’s breadth from becoming director of the CIA, had been selling government secrets to Leban Slade,” Chris said, “and someone threatened to expose it—”

  “Slade would call Dunleavy as his fix-it guy, and Dunleavy would call Burnett to clean it up,” Ray said.

  “And killing any potential witnesses would not be off the table,” Helen said.

  “Is Burnett really tall?” Chris asked Ray.

  “Went to college on a basketball scholarship until he got kicked out for punching the coach,” Ray said. “Six foot eight inches tall.”

  “He’s the guy who tried to get Murphy to hand me over to him last night,” Chris said. “That means he’s been involved in this whole thing from the very beginning.”

  “Leban Slade may be behind the scenes,” Ray said, “but Stu Dunleavy is calling the shots to the goons on the ground.”

  “But why …” Chris scratched his head. “Blair lived with them. Why did Stu hide and protect her for three years—”

  “Maybe she agreed to keep quiet about it, but when Cross was nominated to run the CIA, she couldn’t keep quiet any longer,” Helen said.

  “If Stu was Slade’s fix-it guy, why did Blair go to him in the first place?” Chris asked.

  “Maybe she didn’t know,” Ray said. “Blair’s connection to the Dunleavys was through Stu’s wife. How much did Blair really know about his business dealings? Maybe as much as his wife knew about your cases?”

  “I think you’re on to something, Ray,” Chris said. “Blair told the Dunleavys that I was abusive so they wouldn’t give away her secret. From what they told us, she didn’t mention anything to them about what had happened in Switzerland.”

  “She couldn’t because everything she did was classified,” Ray said.

  “That’s true,” Chris said. “I was her husband and I never knew what she was working on. I never bothered to ask because I knew she couldn’t tell me.”

  “She didn’t tell the Dunleavys who she was really running from,” Helen said, “and Stu didn’t tell her that he was Leban Slade’s fix-it guy. It’s entirely possible that he didn’t know he was hiding his mega client’s biggest threat right
under his own roof.”

  “Imagine Dunleavy’s reaction when she got back from Washington after almost getting killed by an international hitman he had hired,” Chris said.

  “At which point he killed her and dumped her in your backyard,” Helen said.

  “Maybe he didn’t dump her body there to frame you, Chris, as much as to send a warning to stay out of it,” Ray said.

  “He had to know Blair would be smart enough to have a backup copy of her proof that Daniel Cross was a spy for Leban Slade,” Chris said. “They searched her room before we got there. If they found anything, I guarantee it’s long gone.”

  “Do you think they found out about the safety deposit box?” Helen asked in a soft voice.

  “Hard to tell.” Chris went to the window looking out on the front pastures and the bushes behind which the two men were keeping watch on them. “Dunleavy sent his cleanup team out here for a reason. It could just be to make sure I don’t mess up Cross’s confirmation.”

  Recalling Ralph’s claim that they had been ordered to murder him and burn down his home, Chris narrowed his eyes while focusing on the vehicle next to the river. “What are you waiting for?” he asked the men watching him in a soft voice.

  Helen stood next to him. “You know they’re going to be on your tail when you go to that safety deposit box on Monday.”

  “Stu Dunleavy has already proven that he will do anything, including murder, to protect Leban Slade and those who work for him,” Ray said.

  Chris stared down at the dark vehicle in silence while Helen and Ray waited for his response. Helen wondered if he had fallen asleep on his feet.

  “Do you want to sic your mother on them?” Helen asked.

  Chris shook his head. At least that meant he was awake—thinking. “Let’s wait. They’re not going to do anything to me until they know I have Blair’s backup evidence. We’ll take care of them then.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  For the rest of the weekend, the Mathesons and Geezer Squad watched two pairs of men alternating in eight-hour shifts to surveil Chris and his family. It was all Chris could do to keep Doris from doing something awful to them. Her suggestions ranged from sticking a potato up their tailpipe to launching a full-scale paintball attack on them. He had a tough time talking her down from the paintball battle. Elliott and Francine were all for it.

  Chris was more concerned with keeping his daughters from finding out. He was afraid that if they realized their father was being watched, that it would lead to a discussion about something he wasn’t prepared to talk about. Luckily, the girls were so wrapped up in enjoying the brisk autumn day, that they didn’t notice the big dark vehicle with two men inside.

  After sending his daughters off to school, Chris plunged into Monday morning rush hour traffic to return to Chantilly, Virginia. Clad in his service dog vest and a pair of dark sunglasses, Sterling rode shotgun.

  When Chris turned left out of the lane, the SUV pulled out from where it was keeping watch to follow him to Bruce’s winery in Purcellville.

  Sterling’s ears stood erect. The dog seemed to watch the vehicle in the rearview mirror.

  “I know, Sterling,” Chris said. “Give them enough rope and they’ll hang themselves by the time this is over.”

  Acting as Chris’s attorney in case the bank gave him trouble, Bruce was making the trip into the city with him. Despite the volume of vehicles making their way east to Washington, Chris could spy the dark blue SUV with Virginia tags that was never far behind him.

  Chris expected the team watching him to switch the surveillance off to another pair of goons after he broke from the traffic to travel the rural roads to the winery. A growl from Sterling, who was keeping an eye on them, told him that the same team continued to tail him. Chris realized why when he and Bruce stopped at a convenience store to fill up the gas tank.

  The man in the passenger seat sat a head above the driver. The tall man. Paul Burnett was personally keeping an eye on Chris to ensure he didn’t ruin Daniel Cross’s confirmation.

  Their next stop was for breakfast at a restaurant chain in Leesburg, the halfway point to Chantilly. It was a welcome break from the long drive in heavy traffic.

  Upon entering the restaurant, Bruce scanned the dining room. Second booth from the far-right corner. “Over there.” He led Chris, who kept Sterling on his leash, to the table. Sterling lay down next to Chris’s seat.

  The server arrived with a full pot of coffee as soon as they sat. Bestowing a broad smile at Chris, she struck up a conversation about the traffic and the chilly, yet sunny, day.

  While Chris kept her occupied and she blocked the other patrons’ view, Bruce ran his hand across the underside of the table until his fingers contacted the edges of an envelope. With a casual gesture, he detached it from where it was taped to the table. He could feel the outline of the passport Chris needed inside. He slipped the envelope into the inside breast pocket of his suit coat and extracted his reading glasses. To anyone watching, he was simply reaching for his glasses to read the menu.

  Bruce shot Chris a grin, which told him all he needed to know. Murphy had come through with the passport he needed to get into Blair’s safety deposit box.

  Conscious of the two men who had taken a table not far away, they kept their conversation limited to their children and sports. Bruce had a college-aged son who, to his father’s horror, had decided to follow in his footsteps and study law.

  “He wants to be like his daddy,” Chris said.

  “I’d prefer he be like his mother and study architecture,” Bruce grumbled. “Shakespeare said, ‘First, let’s kill all the lawyers,’ for a reason. As a profession, we have spent centuries carefully crafting and earning our reputation of being slime balls. Now, my son wants to be a part of it.” He shook his head over his coffee. “As a parent, it is my duty to raise my son to be a beneficial member of society. Instead, he is joining the ranks of manipulative bloodsuckers. I’m sorry to say I’ve failed my fellow man.”

  Searching for some way to encourage his friend, Chris said, “It could be worse.”

  “How?”

  “He could decide to go into politics.”

  Aware that Cross’s confirmation hearing was scheduled to start at ten o’clock, one hour after the bank opened, they hurriedly ate their breakfast and ordered a breakfast sandwich for Sterling to go. They were back on the freeway when Bruce examined the contents of the envelope. As they had expected, it contained an Australian diplomatic passport in the name of Ethan Nesbitt. It also held a death certificate from the medical examiner for Charlotte Nesbitt listing the cause of death as ‘homicide.’

  The note inside the envelope was from Tristan Faraday:

  Good job! Nigel has had a long conversation with the BOA (Bank of America) database. She confirms that Charlotte Nesbitt does have a safety deposit box (#062804) at the Chantilly branch. Financial Center at 14001 Metrotech Dr, Chantilly, VA 20151. As long as you have the key, this passport and death certificate is all you should need to access it. See you soon.

  Bruce shook two earbuds from the envelope, handed one to Chris, and pressed the other into his own ear.

  Keeping one hand on the wheel, Chris inserted the ear com into his ear. “Testing. Can you hear me, Tristan?”

  “It’s about time, Chris,” Murphy said. “You took your time eating breakfast. Is Bruce there with you?”

  “I’m here,” Bruce said.

  “We’re not alone.” Chris glanced in the back seat to see that Sterling had finished eating his breakfast.

  The dog was staring out the rear window at the SUV, which was directly behind them. Burnett was making no pretense of following them. He seemed to know where they were going and what for.

  “Burnett’s on your tail.” It was a statement, not a question. “Don’t worry. I’ve got him.”

  “Where are you?”
Chris could tell by his tone that Murphy was slightly distracted—as in driving. He checked his rearview mirrors to locate him.

  “Nearby.”

  “Listen,” Chris said, “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “Don’t be a smartass, Lieutenant,” Chris said. “When we searched Blair’s room, we found no paperwork for this bank or any bank for that matter. Not a statement or bank receipt. Nothing.”

  “Don’t worry,” Murphy said. “Nigel confirmed that Charlotte Nesbitt has a safety deposit box at this branch.”

  “I’m not arguing about that.” Chris glanced at the SUV in the rearview mirror. “If Stu discovered Friday night that Blair was a major threat to his biggest client, wouldn’t it make sense that he’d search her room for evidence first thing after disposing of her body?”

  Sterling growled and stomped his feet. Bruce looked over his shoulder at the blue vehicle.

  “You pay fees for renting safety deposit boxes,” Chris said. “If she had even one bank statement in her room, Stu would have known right away that she had a safety deposit box. But I have the key.”

  “So he can’t access it,” Bruce said. “That’s why they’ve been watching you all weekend. they’re waiting for you to go check what she’s put in that box.”

  “You’re thinking Dunleavy knew Blair had a safety deposit box at this bank before you even got there Saturday morning,” Murphy said. “If so, these guys may have backup waiting for you at that bank.”

  “If you were Dunleavy, isn’t that what you’d do?”

  They arrived at the Bank of America approximately five minutes after it had opened. As they turned into the parking lot, they drove past a stretch white limousine. They parked in a space as close to the entrance as possible.

  “Someone has a lot of money in this bank,” Chris told Bruce.

  Chris attached the leash to Sterling, who uttered a low growl when the blue SUV passed them to park in the next row.

  “Wait for it.” Chris tightened his hold on the German shepherd’s leash when a black motorcycle raced into the lot and parked in one of the smaller spaces.