Linda Welch - A conspiracy of Demons (23 page)

“And
met him
the next day?
Why?
”

Another screen bopped up with the others. Royal had linked me to an article. The picture was of a handsome, elegant man in h
is mid-thirties with neat, dark-gray hair and dark eyes.
Bob
Pride, second t
erm as a Republican Representative
. Chatter said
he’d
run for governor next time. The reporter called him charismatic.

“
Has anyone died in their headquarters
?
M
aybe she saw a dead person in there, someone wi
th a strong connection to Pride.
W
e should pay him a visit
, if only to eliminate him from this whole sorry mess
.”

“He is on the circuit. If you can wait, he will be in
Pocatello
tomorrow.” Royal peeked over his screen again and flicked an eyebrow like a question mark.

Idaho.
Two
hours away. I rubbed my nose. “He’s not coming here?”

“He did Salt Lake City
in June
. Now he is working the trail east.”

I
clapped my hands together and squeezed
. This was more like it, progress at last.
“I have
a feeling
this RP plays a major role in Lynn’s murder. That entry in her appointment book . . . it’s atypical.”

“And if
it is not
Robert Pride
?”

“Then
we check out that murder in Portland.
And
we keep looking for the mysterious RP.
”

Royal indicated left and drove into the industrial park
, a small complex spread over five acres
. SupraGear Engineering was the
second
facility along.
It
made gearboxes,
big
gearboxes
for ocean-going liners
and massive machinery,
and something called valve actuators.

That Mallory readily agreed to an interview with two PIs somewhat surprised me, but who am I to argue?

Royal parked in the visitor
’
s lot
. I leaned between the two front seats and spoke to Mac where he lay on his belly on the backseat. “Won’t be a sec, boy. You behave yourself.”

He lifted his head, a hopeful gleam in his eyes, then dropped it and glared from under his hairy brows as I opened the door and got out. How
dare
I take him for a drive and not bring a treat along?

Royal and I
walked to the public entrance. A young male secretary pointed out the elevator and told us Mallory’s office was on the second floor and he
expected
us.

Upstairs, a
slender
, middle-aged Asian woman
led us directly
to
his office.

Russell Mallory was a big man,
though
not as tall as Royal and me.
His days as
a bulked-up college athlete were long gone, Mallory’s teen muscles had gone to fat and he looked older than forty-fi
ve. Gray heavily laced his buzz—
cut red hair, s
quare spectacles framed pale-green eyes
and thin, dry lips were barely
there above a prominent chin.

His smile faltered when his secretary showed us
inside
his spacious office and his gaze traveled upward to our faces.
Our height tends to set people off kilter when we first meet.
He quic
kly plastered the smile back on
and came from behind his desk to greet us.

As befitted his executive position, Mallory had a corner office, the east and south walls all windows, the ceiling way up there. A large oak desk and chair, two facing chairs, an oak filing cabinet and book-filled shelves along the north wall were the only furniture.
The room smelled strongly of lemon furniture polish.

He shook our hands, indicated the chairs and
stepped back
to regain his seat.
I sat,
but
Royal
remained standing, suitably
looming behind my chair. Mallory
laced his
fingers
and studied us
. “How can I help you?”

“By telling us about Taft Hogan.”

His hands dropped heavily to the desk. “You’re investigating Taft? On whose behalf? His wife?”

“No, but Jennifer is aware
of our i
nquiries
.” I leaned in. “We didn’t tell her you killed him.”

He started as his eyes flared
and his
face
became
gray and sickly
, then reddened.
He forced a shadow of a laugh. “Is this a jo
ke? Taft walk
ed out on Jennifer and this company
over twenty years ago.
No one
,
nobody
, has seen hide nor hair of him since.”

I cocked my head. “I spoke to him yesterday.”

He decided to bluster. “You’re insane! You accuse me of murdering Taft, then say you spoke to him!”

“Ah, that’s the thing. I’m a psychic, Mr. Mallory. Talk
to Clarion Police Department
.
I often consult on their investigations. I’m the real thing, and I had a chat with Ta
ft up in Clay Basin yesterday.”

He acted
as if I ha
d punched him in the
gut
. His abdomen contracted as he bowed over the desk and
breath
oofed
from his mouth.
The way he gasped for air,
I hoped he
would not
have a heart attack
.

He visibly gathered himself together and
s
at
with a stiff spine
. His face looked bruised,
the
red a shade from maroon.
“
Get out!
”

“We are not going anywhere, Mr. Mallory,” Royal said.

“I . . . I. . . .” He shot upright
and reached for the phone. “I’m calling security.”

Royal growled, “Si
t down
.
”

“Yeah, you should sit, you don’t look so good.”
I have seen var
ious
reac
tions from suspects when they a
re accused, but none as emotionally violent as Rusty’s.
I spread my hands placatingly. “M
ake it easy on yourself, admit you killed Taft.
”

He
loomed
over the desk with his
hand inches from the phone.
“Why
, by all that’s
holy, did you
decide
I killed Taft
?”

“He told me. He said
y
ou
pushed him
and
he
hit his head on a filing cabinet. You and your
uncle
took him up to Clay Basin and buried him in a little
gull
y
.”

His face bleached. After a minute
of
staring at me, he kind of staggered and sat down heavily, then dropped his head
in
his hands.

H
is entire body
relaxed.

I have
seen it before. W
hen a person carries a terrible secret
inside
for years,
it eats away like acid.
He could have denied everything and thrown us out, but the moment
of truth had finally arrived
and came as a relief
.
He could let it all out now.

He spoke quietly
and quickly
. “Taft
lived beyond his means
.
He
. . .
borrowed from
the
company accounts. I honestly think he meant to replace the money before
someone
discovered it missing, but he couldn’t catch up and borrowed again. For three years. I was going to play for the pros till I blew out my knee. I decided to go into accounting, since I had a talent for anything mathematical.”

He lifted his head. As he continued, his gaze kept darting to Royal and away. I wished I could see my big guy’s expression
,
it must be
intimidating
.

Mallory
drew in a deep breath. “I
came here evenings after classes and went over the finances
, putting what I learned into practice
. Studying
the books
, I
knew Taft was embezzling. I confronted him. I was young, hotheaded, stupid. He
tried to diffuse the situation and
calm me down, but I was angry. I shoved him. He fe
ll and hit the back of his head
.
I
couldn’t
tell Dad, so I called Uncle Fred. We took Taft to Clay Basin.
”

Royal made a noise deep in his throat.
“
He was not reported missing.
”

“
Uncle Fred
forged a Dear John letter to
his wife which said
he was leaving her, going a
way
to start a new life.
We snuck
in
their house while she was at work, packed a suitcase
with Taft’s things
and left the note.
Their marriage was on the rocks anyway.
She was happy to see the back of him.”
He ended on
a
small sigh.

He met my eyes. “
How did you find Taft
? Was there a seismic shift?”

“
I spoke to his ghost, Mr. Mallory.
I didn’t find his body,
it’s still there. But I can take the police to his grave.” I hesitated, debating whether or not to tell Mallory he buried Taft alive. I decided against it.
“
They’ll dig up
Hogan
and find evidence, even after all these years.
”

His head sank in his hands. “What shall I tell my wife, my kids?”

“The truth, Mr. Mallory,” Royal said. His hands came down on my shoulders and squeezed.

Damn me, I
almost
felt sorry for the gu
y. Taft’s death was an accident.
Mallory didn’t know he buried the man alive.
But
Jack
’s
and Mel
’s
deaths were no accident
.
“You can plead ma
nslaughter for Hogan, but Jack Trewellyn
’s
and Melissa Trent’s
deaths were premeditated.”

He
lifted his head wearily. “Who?”

“Jack
disappeared
not long after you buried Taft. He
went to
Clay Basin and never made it home. Mel
went missing
four years later, and guess what, she was also up in Clay Basin.” I leaned in, my voice cold. “
You thought they
saw something they should
no
t up in Clay Basin. Shades become confused when they linger as long as those two. They don’t remember how they died, and think your uncle did them in
.
But
you killed them,
didn’t you.
”

Hi
s eyes, mouth, his entire face -
he looked totally stunned.
But then
something I couldn’t identify flickered in his eyes. H
e
lowered his head,
looked at his hands and
deliberately
placed them
palm down on the desk
.
“You’re right. I
killed them
.” His e
yes flickered to me, then away.

My fist thumped the desk. He flinched. “Why, Mallory? Why did you kill them?”

“Uncle Fred and . . . and I . . . we kept an eye on the place for a
few
weeks. Trewellyn
went
there the day after we buried Taft. He
checked out
the
gull
y, then left in a hurry. We couldn’t take the risk. . . .”