Judgement By Fire (24 page)

“None of that
negates the courage of what you’re doing, Pippa,” he said quietly, adding, “And
believe me, we all want this guy caught.”

            Pippa’s reply shocked
him, making him horribly aware again that that candle flame of an idea that his
brain had refused to look at was burning ever closer to the surface. “Perhaps
you won’t feel quite so positive when you hear this,” Pippa said, flicking a
grave glance at Warren’s tense face before pulling her hand away from Jon’s as though
wishing to distance herself from him.

            Taking a deep breath,
afraid of what was coming, yet having to know, Jon said quietly, “I think you’d
better explain, Pippa.”

            And she did. The
young accountant told how for several months now there had been an increasing
number of irreconcilable amounts withdrawn from the special projects committee
budget and how a number of the research projects had been way over budget
without any logical explanations being offered. She’d challenged the various
people involved and they had disclaimed any knowledge of why such large amounts
of money were going through the accounts without proper paperwork filed.

Pippa, who had
overall responsibility for the accounts in that department, had become very
curious and very concerned. Concerned to the point where she had started
examining the financial records of Avalon Hospitality Inc., the company
division that had requested most of the special projects’ items that had been
so suspect.

            Jon realized he was
holding his breath in the silent room as Pippa continued her story.

“It seems
that, for more than a year, money has been being siphoned out of both the
Avalon Hospitality accounts and the special projects research accounts. We’re
not talking about peanuts here, either,” said Pippa, her eyes wide and fixed on
Jon’s face. “We’re into at least seven figures, I’d imagine. You see, it’s not
just that non-existent projects have been funded and genuine projects have been
massively overpriced. In some cases, supplies have been ordered, invoiced, and
marked ‘paid’, but then cancelled before delivery could take place. Yet the
payment checks have still been drawn and the companies involved claim never to
have received any cash because the orders were cancelled. Several were annoyed
enough to bawl me out over the phone about the last minute cancellations which
fouled up their planning. There have been instances where building supplies
have been ordered and paid for through the Rush Co. accounts, but delivered to
sites in Markham that certainly aren’t on the books as being owned by, or
anything to do with, Rush Co., Avalon Hospitality, or any other company
division that I could locate.”

            Pippa paused for
breath, and Warren leaned over to offer her a sip of water from a glass at the
bedside. Jon winced as he saw that the only way the young woman could take the
liquid was through a drinking straw and the act of swallowing seemed to cause
her as much pain as the water brought refreshment.

            “I had all kinds of
notes, computer discs, and documents in my briefcase, and I was going to spend
the weekend going over everything. Then on Monday, I was going to contact all
the people involved, all the suppliers and so on, to see if I could verify the
source of the orders and cancellations. Because the source of these orders has
to also be the sinkhole into which all this money is being siphoned. I
understand my briefcase was taken in the accident,” Pippa said, bitterness
lacing her voice on the word “
accident
”.

            Jon nodded, and Pippa
went on, pain making her voice urgent, “I think it might be a fair bet to say
that those records have been destroyed, along with the originals at the
company. But you see one thing they taught us in accountancy school was never
to take chances with documentation. I made two copies of everything—one I was
taking home with me, and the other I stashed in a big envelope in my
secretary’s stationery cupboard. It’s in a box with packets of copier paper,
and I hope to God that that madman hasn’t found it and destroyed it, too.”

            Pippa fell silent
then, and Jon was racked with guilt because he could only guess at what this
interview had cost her. And he knew, with sudden insight, why Warren had
insisted that Pippa tell him her story directly. There was one more thing, and
he had to ask although every fiber of his being was crying out against it.

            “You know, don’t you,
Pippa. You know who’s at the bottom of all this.” It wasn’t a question, it was
a statement, and the three other people in the room looked at Jon as they heard
the pain in his voice.

            Pippa swallowed. She
knew he’d guessed and was grateful for that. However, she also knew that Jon
Rush’s belief in loyalty was legendary and that he had inherited his father’s
deep pride in family bonds. Even though he knew, she saw with stunning clarity
that, when she said the words aloud, Jon Rush would be pierced to the core.

            “Let’s get this over,
Mr. Rush. I’m in pain and I’d like that nice nurse to come in and stick that
needle in my rear and let me have a few hours of pain-free oblivion; time when
I don’t need to think. I phoned Warren for an interview because of my
suspicions, and those suspicions were confirmed when I saw that big black Jeep
driving straight at me. As it passed a streetlight, I saw the man behind the
steering wheel, and even though it was only a split second, I recognized him.

            “I’m sorry, Mr. Rush.
Your cousin Stephen Rush tried to kill me. He’s the one.”

            He didn’t know how he
was able to keep on walking, talking, functioning, not with this awful wound to
his heart. Yet he did. At least on the surface.

            Somehow, he managed
to conclude the interview with Pippa, gently wishing her a speedy recovery and
thanking her for her help, even though the words of thanks almost choked him.
For if Pippa was right, a whole part of his life was a hollow sham. His loyalty
to family, something he had learned at his father’s knee and sworn at his
father’s graveside, was empty. Worse, his blindness had threatened to destroy
everything he held dear. Jon wasn’t at all sure, through the numbness that
shrouded him, that some part of him hadn’t already been destroyed.

            “How long have you
known?” he demanded of Warren, his flat voice giving no hint of the pain the
question cost him.

They were
seated in a corner of the hospital cafeteria, bright orange plastic chairs
drawn up against gray Formica topped tables, surrounded by the swish of shoes
on vinyl tiles, the smell of fried foods, coffee, and antiseptic. No doubt at
some of the other occupied tables, quiet dramas of life and death were also
unfolding over cups of cooling coffee and tea, each person huddled in
isolation.

            Warren was silent for
a few moments, wondering how best to help his friend.  There was no easy way to
ease the pain Jon must feel to know that he was betrayed by his own flesh and
blood.

            “I’ve suspected there
was some problem with Stephen for a while, certainly since the newspaper
article about the West River project. It didn’t take much to realize that the
company source the newspapers were so confident in quoting had to be someone
high up in Avalon Hospitality, but I couldn’t figure out what Stephen had to
gain from damaging the company.”

            “And when did you
begin to put it together?” Jon’s voice was harsh.

            “Jon, this is not
your fault. I had more information than you, I should have cottoned on to
something when Pippa called and asked to see me urgently. If I hadn’t put her
off, she might not be in that hospital bed right now,” Warren said, his own
pain and guilt spilling over into his voice.

            The note reached Jon,
and he looked over at his friend with a compassion he couldn’t extend to
himself.

“But you put
being with me first because you were afraid there’d be trouble in West River
and your loyalty insisted that you be there for me,” he said quietly. “And you
were right, there was trouble.”

This time,
when he ran his fingers over the puckered skin of the healing wound on his
temple, the thought of Lauren brought back no comfort.

            “But we still don’t
know why any of this is happening,” Warren said.

            The two men were silent,
and Warren felt the passing of time like pressure building on his skull. He had
to get through to Jon, make him act, or who knew what else might happen?

            “I have to go and
find Stephen, get this sorted out.”

            Warren was aghast.
“What the hell is there to sort out, man? Stephen has been siphoning money off
from the company into his own pocket. When he thought Pippa was going to blow
the whistle on him, he ran her down in the road.”

            “If I can find him,
talk to him...”

            “Jon! For God’s
sake!  The police are looking for Stephen, but even if they find him, they
couldn’t hold him long on what we have right now. He’d be sure to get bail. And
who knows what he might do? Jon, Stephen tried to run your truck off the road.
He didn’t know that Lauren was driving it. That was a warning. Next time he
might get serious. He might just kill you.”

            “Stephen’s my
cousin.”

            “Don’t give me that
family crap. He’s taken you for everything he could get. He’s trampled on your
family relationship.”

            Jon’s eyes flashed
with anger but Warren wouldn’t back down.

“Jon, based on
everything that has happened, Stephen Rush is a very sick and dangerous man. We
have to get the evidence that will keep him out of harm’s way.”

            “You’re right, I know
that. It’s just that…Well, anyway. We need evidence, and I’m going to go
through the files to see if I can find it.” Jon’s stomach lurched. He was about
to scour Rush Co. files to find evidence that would lock his own cousin up. And
he had no alternative.

            “Do you have any idea
where Stephen may have gone?” Warren asked, relief at having penetrated Jon’s
defenses in his voice.

            “None. We were never
really that close. Stephen was a hard man to get close to. He could even be out
of the country by now.” Jon’s voice held a hopeful note, and Warren didn’t
comment on the fact that he was talking about his cousin in the past tense.

*
* *

            “My, Miss Stephens,
for an artist you sure do make a good tuna macaroni casserole!” Constable Tom
Perry smiled appreciatively as he pushed his chair back from Lauren’s dining
table.

            “Well, Tom, I’d love
to take credit, but it seems everyone in West River knows my weakness for tuna
macaroni. There must be about a year’s supply in the fridge,” Lauren told him.

            “Well, ma’am, any
time you need more help in eating it, just give me a call,” the young officer
said with a grin. “Now, I’d better be out at the car again, ‘cos if Chief Ohmer
catches me anywhere ‘cept where I’m supposed to be, I’ll be on traffic duty in
Main Street for the rest of my career.”

            Lauren laughed and walked
over to the door with the young man, grateful for his company.

“Has there
been any news at all?” she asked as he stepped out onto the porch.

            “Well, it looks as
though they’ve got an identification from the lady who was run down, and
they’ve put out an APB on this guy, so don’t you worry. If it’s the same guy
who’s been causing you all this trouble, he’d better not show his face around
here. The Chief’s fit to have apoplexy already.”  With a wave of his hand,
Perry headed off back to the police car hidden in the shelter of the trees near
Lauren’s house.

            She closed the door,
glad to have the protective police presence so close. She set to work tidying
away the crockery they’d used for the simple late lunch, then began to go
around the house, dusting and polishing the unfamiliar furnishings, rearranging
things here and there in a bid to make the little cottage her own again. She
marveled at the kindness of her neighbors, although some pieces, such as a pair
of horse-shaped lamps with ugly green shades, made her wonder how she could
tactfully return them to their owners without appearing ungrateful.

To that end,
she went around the house yet again, making a wish list of all the things she’d
like to replace when she had the funds to do so. Not a particularly
materialistic person, Lauren realized as she made her way around the house that
the items she missed the most all had memories of friends and family attached
to them. When she reached the front door, she looked wistfully at the spot
where her treasured grandfather clock had stood, remembering its elegant lines
and reassuring tick. The clock had been a major find at a house clearance sale
that she and Lucy had been at several years before. The price had been higher
than she could afford and Lucy had offered to chip in the balance, but the old
lady who was selling her possessions prior to moving into a nursing home had
been touched by the appreciation for the clock’s beauty she had seen on
Lauren’s face.

“I want this
to go to someone who’ll care about it,” she said, naming a dramatically lower
price. “My husband bought it for me on our first wedding anniversary, and it
was old then. But I’ve always loved it, and I know you will, too.”

Tears slipped
from the corner of Lauren’s eyes. She’d never be able to replace that clock,
not just because of the soaring price of antiques, but also because of the
story behind it.

            She was thankful when
the doorbell interrupted her thoughts.

“Hope I’m not
interrupting anything,” Paul said when she opened the door. He eyed the
notebook in Lauren’s hand, the pencil pushed behind her ear.