Dying Embers (16 page)

I stopped dissecting the steak to look Jack in the eye. “All that aside, I think Dixon had a point. You're supposed to report the target's activities, not make excuses for them. You don't usher at a target's daughter's wedding, stand up as a godparent, or bang his wife. You're looking to testify against the target, not join his family.”

“The wedding is next week. I'm an usher. If I don't go, maybe he'll know something is up.”

I shook my head. “Doesn't matter,” I said. “This case is so hot a guy followed me out here from Michigan. Some dumb bastard stole my bags at the airport, and they snapped his neck like a chicken, maybe because they thought he was me. Dixon turned up dead, maybe because they missed me. It didn't make a lot of sense until you told me that he had copies of the reports.”

Jack shrugged and shoveled in a forkload of scrambled eggs.

“You know what Light and Energy is doing,” I said. “It's a quantum leap in technology. I don't think the buggy whip manufacturers are going to ‘go quietly into that good night.' If you go up to that wedding, you'll be the next one to have a fatal accident.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I'm sure you can,” I said, thinking of the bonehead play he pulled out at the phone booth, “but these people are good, way good, Cold-War good—the kind of guys only the government could afford if they were still in the business.”

I heard myself say that. It had been in the back of my mind since I got a load of the “Andy” that visited my office. But the people I'd worked with at the puzzle palace knew where I lived, and they wouldn't have leaned on Lorna Kemp.

“I don't work for you or Dixon anymore,” said Jack.

“Do whatever you want,” I said. “I'll send flowers. But right now you're on the clock. This is called a debriefing. What happened to the keys, the mail, and the computer discs?”

“Dixon took the keys and the mail,” said Jack, using a strip of bacon as a pointer. “I met him in the parking lot at the post office. He put the stuff in his glove box.” He turned his head and laid a vacant gaze on his tray, but left the bacon at the ready. When he looked back he said, “I don't know anything about computer discs.”

“The discs from the hard drive in the plant manager's office,” I said, “what was downloaded?”

“Beats the shit out of me,” said Jack. “I wasn't allowed into the plant manager's office. The plant manager's office, the R&D office, and the room with the servers were card access only. They shredded the paper waste and left it in a burn bag outside the door at night.”

“So what did you clean?”

“The rest of the place.”

“They have in-house or contract security?”

“The place was locked down at night,” he said. “They had an alarm system
and used some patrol outfit to shake the doors.”

“Who had access to the plant manager's office?”

“He did. Nobody else went in there. He met with people in the conference room.”

I said, “How about his secretary?”

“He didn't have one. He used the receptionist from the front door. She took his calls.”

“What reason did Dixon give you for shutting down the job? How come you just disappeared?”

“Dixon said there was some kind of big trouble. He told me to go home and lay low. I figured he touched all the bases. Sorry if you guys got excited.”

“Ross wants to see you,” said Max. He looked at his watch. “I need you to vouch for me playing cards. Ross wouldn't believe Greg or Ralph if they swore the sun came up in the morning.”

“You gonna hurt my feelings,” Greg yelled from two tables down. “'Sides, Art and us is going over to the Crystal Palace.”

“Sorry, Greg,” I said, “I'm kinda boxed in here. How about I spot you a sawbuck and I'll catch up with you when I'm done with the cops?”

“Works for me,” said Greg, all smiles.

“Where's Ralph?”

“In the crapper.”

We got up and side-stepped down the row of tables until we were standing next to Greg. I peeled him off two tens and said, “I'll leave Ralph's saw-buck with you. You guys can get the wake started.”

“Sure,” said Greg. He folded the bills and put them in the bib pocket of his overalls. “You can trust me.”

“Yeah,” said Max, “but Ralph can't.”

“You're giving a bad impression here,” said Greg. “I'll give Ralph the money, sure as hell, and tell him it's a loan—won't charge him no interest neither.”

We laughed and worked our way up toward the door. Greg stood up and yelled, “Hey, Junior, Art's fixing to leave.”

Junior got to the door before we did. Three axe handles tall and an axe handle wide at the shoulders, he blocked the door—hell, he blocked out the sun.

“We get cleaned up here around one-thirty or two,” he said. “Don't be late 'cause Mama needs her rest. And better bring flowers, else you might need some.”

I gave him a wink. “You can count on me.” We left.

Jack followed me over to get my suitcase out of the back of Ralph's truck. I asked him, “So how'd you land the undercover job? Dixon run an ad?”

“Nah, I was just working as a guard, man. Dixon asked me to do the job because I had a computer and could file the reports.”

I dog eyed Jack on the way to Max's car and considered the things on my mind. A big thing: Greg and Ralph didn't know him. And a strange thing: Dixon and Max went back a long way and they knew him.

“You have to get in my door because the passenger's won't open,” Max said. Max's blue Ford coupe had sun-faded to gray on the top parts. He opened the driver's door and pulled the seat forward. Discarded fast food wrappers, at high tide in the back seat, tumbled out onto the parking lot.

“Genuine Indian artifacts,” said Max.

“Anything alive back here?”

“Just what ate the burgers.”

I threw my suitcase across the seat and pushed enough of the litter aside to make room to sit. Jack walked around to the passenger side of the vehicle. Max flopped the seat back in place and slid in behind the wheel. Jack stepped into the passenger seat through the open window. The old Ford left a blue smoke screen as we drove out.

I said, “About your reports. There's one more thing.”

“What?” said Jack. “I wrote a report every day. Maybe I got to see them to answer your question.”

“This should stick out in your mind. You'll probably remember.” I waited for him to look at me. “If all the paper trash was shredded, why do you suppose the engineer asked you if the bags were inspected after you picked them up?”

“We were drinking beer and half in the bag,” said Jack.

“Who was working who?”

Jack turned around in the seat to look at me directly. “I've never burned myself,” he said.

“Burned?” I asked. “You were playing with matches?”

“Burned, toasted—revealed, you know what the fuck I mean. I never heated the guy up.”

“Oh, right. I don't work the street very much anymore.” I shrugged. “Tell me about the engineer.”

“He was talking about the BuzzBee battery suit and wondering how they got the information they used in their complaint.”

“Maybe your target knew damn good and well,” I said.

“He didn't come to work until after the suit was filed.”

“Who was there before him?”

“Some guy. He mentioned the name. The guy didn't leave the company; he went to Michigan. Something about sand—quartz, silica, mica—I don't know. Funny name like Humpty Dumpty, I don't remember.”

“Dunphy?”

“Yeah, that's the guy,” said Jack.

“Look, if we send you a ticket, you think you can fly to Michigan for a couple of days? We'll cover your expenses and you'll be on the clock for a week.”

“When? I got to find some work.”

“Soon,” I said. “I need to review your reports again.”

Max turned onto a narrow gravel drive guarded by scrub pine on both sides. After a curve to the left, the trees opened to reveal a white mobile home. A magnetic sign on the door announced, D
IXON
S
ECURITY AND
I
NVESTIGATIONS
. A black station wagon with tinted windows and chrome cabriolet fixtures had been backed up to the steps and shared the gravel parking area with a white Lincoln and a marked county sheriff patrol car.

Leiutenant Ross, wearing jeans and a windbreaker over a yellow pullover shirt, stood at the open passenger door of the white Lincoln and watched us pull into the drive. Deputy Fairchild strode toward us from the cruiser and showed us the palm of his right hand. Max rolled down his window.

“What do you want?” asked Fairchild.

“Ross told me to bring Hardin,” said Max.

“Stay here,” said Fairchild. He walked over and spoke with Ross.

Ross shook his head and then beckoned to us with a wave. “Just Hardin,” he yelled.

I walked over and offered my hand. The contents of the glove box of the Lincoln lay scattered on the passenger seat. Ross peeled the latex glove off his right hand and took mine. “You still here?” he asked.

“You told me not to leave town.”

“Yeah, well, now you can go. The sooner the better.”

“What about your snitch?”

“Tragic accident. One of the four people hurt in the panic.”

“You really think so?”

“The sheriff thinks so,” said Ross.

“How come the lights went out?”

“Somebody sprayed graphite silly strings into the main breaker box.”

“Happen often?”

“Never heard of it before.”

“Max said that he needed me to vouch for his whereabouts last night,” I said.

Ross made a dismissive wave. “I never doubted him. This is a suicide. Dixon left a note on his PC.”

“How many bullets were left in the gun?”

“Five. He stuck it in his mouth. It's not like he was going to miss.”

“Dixon was a cop. You think he'd leave a loaded gun behind?”

“Dixon was a fed. It ain't the same. Lawyers and accountants shouldn't be allowed to carry guns.”

“PI's?”

“Two strikes. Listen, I got shit to do here. Why don't you have Max take you to the airport?”

“I'm not quite done here,” I said.

“I got an address on that Jacob Anderson,” said Ross, “but I'm afraid if I give it to you he'll turn up on my dance card.”

“Too late. That's him over there with Max. We had breakfast this morning.”

“How did you pull that off?”

“Hardy Boy stuff—when the power went out, the ATM ate my bank card, so I had to spend the night at the bus terminal. Turned out that Dixon had the security account there.”

“I'm surprised Max gave up an undercover operative.”

“He didn't, really.” I said. “He went to Jack and told him someone was asking about him.” I waited for Ross to give me a nod. “How old is Jack's address? Jack doesn't seem like he's from around here.”

Ross started pulling his glove back on. “Two weeks,” he said. “He bought a fishing license—got nothing from the Department of Motor Vehicles.”

I said, “Jack came out and introduced himself. My luck runneth over, even Mama Rosa bought me a steak.”

Ross laughed and looked at his watch. “You've got about two and a half hours to find an oyster bar.”

“Not really?”

“Really! Mama Rosa is a fixture here. She does a lot of good for people. You have to look at it like jury duty or a draft notice. She gets pissed, the breakfast portions get small.”

“You're a young stud,” I said. “You can fill in for me.”

“That's the thing—as sweet as she is I think she still harbors some ugly prejudices,” he said with a smile. “I find it deeply troubling.”

“Deputy Fairchild?”

“Makes it a point not to eat breakfast.”

“Never a cop when you need one,” I said. Ross turned back to the Lincoln. I cleared my throat and asked, “What if—”

“You still here?” said Ross without looking up.

“What if your snitch wasn't an accident and Dixon wasn't a suicide? I can tell you for sure that the graphite in the switchbox wasn't a high school prank.”

Ross turned and straightened, his face dour. “I wouldn't push that idea if I were you.”

I took out the key for the bus station locker. “You remember the guy I said followed me here on the plane?”

“Yeah, he talked on a cell phone and lit a cigarette. A regular desperado.”

I held the key up. “In this locker at the bus station there's a soft drink cup. Take the lid off and you'll find a digital camera. His fingerprints are on the camera and his picture is in the camera.”

Ross took the key with his gloved fingers. “How on earth did you do that?” was written on his face, but he said, “More Hardy Boy stuff?”

“Sure,” I said. “You went through Dixon's property?”

“Doing it right now.” Ross stared at the key.

“My client is looking for a ring of keys and some mail addressed to Light and Energy Applications.”

“They looking for the computer discs too?”

“Yes, sir.”.

“They were lying on the desk in front of Dixon. The mail and the discs were bound together with a big red rubber band.”

“How many discs?”

“Seven. If your client wants their stuff, they can have it after the inquest.”

“What was on the discs?”

“Dixon's brains,” said Ross.

W
ENDY SAID
, “L
ET ME SEE IF
I
HAVE THIS RIGHT
.
You want me to send flowers to a woman for you.”

“Not from me, from us.”

“Just get on the airplane and come home,” said Wendy.