Shadow of a Doubt (9 page)

“What specifically did they want to know?” Nancy asked, sitting down on a step leading upstairs.

“It seems that all of River Heights is buzzing with the news that I may have suppressed evidence the DA subpoenaed in the Allard trial,” Carson said with a sigh.

“So now the DA thinks you tried to frame Gleason by withholding evidence?”

Carson nodded. “That's right. But I didn't!”

Nancy had never seen her father so worked up. “I know you didn't, Dad,” she said. She stood up and wrapped her arms around him, hardly able to believe this was happening to them.

Carson hugged her back, then pulled away. He let out a deep breath. “You're right, Nancy. We can't stand by and let this go on. I'll take all the help I can get.”

Now, there's the father I know and love, Nancy thought. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. “What's the first step?” she asked.

“Follow me,” Carson said. He went into the living room, Nancy following him.

Carson handed her a thick manila file folder, bursting with documents. “What's this?” she asked, taking it from her father.

“My records from the trial,” he explained. “I dragged them out and started going through
them. And you'll never believe what I found,” he said excitedly.

Nancy gave her father a bright look. “Don't keep me in suspense, Dad.”

Carson smiled. “You're never going to believe this,” he said. “Do you remember that the embezzled money disappeared from a bank account the day before the indictments were handed down?”

Nancy nodded.

“But this is what I hadn't remembered—the money had supposedly been transferred to an account at the River Heights Bank and Trust.”

“Do you realize what you're saying?” Nancy asked. “That's the same bank that Dennis Allard works at now!”

“That's right, kiddo. One and the same.”

N
ANCY STARED
unblinking at her father. “You are thinking the same thing I'm thinking, aren't you?” she asked slowly. “That this isn't just some strange coincidence.”

“Well,” he said, “I don't think we can jump to conclusions.”

Nancy was about to interrupt, until Carson went on, obviously excited at the discovery. “But it is a little strange that the same man who was involved in the embezzlement case should end up working in the bank where the embezzled money had been transferred to and disappeared from.”

“And this same man claims not to know anything about it.”

Carson pulled a piece of paper from the folder. “Look at this,” he said, pointing. “The day before the indictments came down, all the money that had been transferred there from the clients' overpayments was withdrawn. In cash. Robert Gleason signed the check.”

“But Gleason insisted he didn't know anything about the money,” Nancy said, leafing through the pages.

“I know. Nancy, there's too much that's wrong here.”

“You don't know the half of it,” Nancy said. She started pacing the room. Everything in the case seemed to be breaking at once.

“I've come to the conclusion that Chris Gleason knows something about where the money is. Or is trying his hardest to find it,” she told her father.

“So you weren't with George just now, were you?” Carson asked, a grin spreading over his face. “Come on, Nancy. I'm your father, I can tell when something's up.”

Nancy was so relieved her father was finally on her side that the whole story spilled out of her.

“Dad, I followed Cheryl Pomeroy,” she told him. “You're never going to believe this, but the reason she gave Gleason the file in the first
place was because she's going with Chris Gleason. She also told me that Chris has been to see Dennis Allard. It looks like he's obsessed with the money that was never found.”

Carson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So you think his main reason for getting you to investigate his father's death is to lead him to the money?”

Nancy nodded.

“I'm going to change my mind again. I think it's time I called the district attorney and told him my side of the story, including all of this about the Gleasons,” Carson said firmly. “And tomorrow I'm going to do just that.”

“But, Dad—” Nancy began.

“No buts,” Carson said. He came over to where she was standing by the fireplace and put a hand on her shoulder. “You've done more than enough for now. You are officially off the case again. I know you're trying to help me, but you're in over your head. I have to think of you. Now you really should get to bed. It's late.”

Nancy went upstairs. She knew her father was right. He had to call the DA, to try to clear his name if nothing else.

But that didn't mean she wasn't going to continue to get to the bottom of Chris Gleason's motives. If he
was
using her, there was no way she was going to let him get away with it.

Nancy was in bed before she remembered Gleason's date book.

I'm really losing my touch, she said to herself. She got up, opened her desk drawer, and took out the small notebook.

Going page by page backward from the day Gleason died, Nancy pored over the notebook once more. She saw that Gleason had had appointments with Cheryl Pomeroy, Peter Nicodemus, Dennis Allard—nothing she didn't already know. There had to be something important in the book if Gleason had bothered to hide it.

After nearly an hour of trying to find any clue in the notebook, Nancy turned off her light. She decided that the next day she was going to get some answers from the two people who had to know more than they were telling: Chris Gleason and Dennis Allard.

• • •

“I was just about to call you,” Bess told Nancy on the phone the next morning. “How's your dad?”

Nancy briefly explained what had happened the night before. “Are you ready for action?” she asked her friend.

“You bet!” Bess answered. “Anything.”

Nancy gave Kate Gleason's address to Bess. “Get over there as fast as you can and watch her. If she leaves, follow her. I have a feeling
she's up to something and I want to know what it is. Then meet me and George for lunch at Bonne Cuisine in the mall at twelve-thirty.”

“Gotcha,” Bess said, hanging up.

Next Nancy called George, who was also more than happy to help her out.

“Cheryl Pomeroy, watch out,” she said, after Nancy had explained what she wanted George to do. “Because wherever you go, I'll be there,” she said, laughing.

“Thanks, George. And let's meet for lunch at Bonne Cuisine at twelve-thirty to talk about what you found out.” Nancy hung up the phone and left the house.

After the short drive downtown in her rented car, Nancy pulled up in front of River Heights Bank and Trust. She wanted to find out if there was any way to trace the money. Nancy also had to determine whether or not there was any reason to suspect Dennis Allard.

A few minutes later she was standing outside Dennis Allard's office.

“Mr. Allard will be with you in a minute,” a young secretary told her, pointing, to a chair. “Have a seat.” Then the girl walked away on stiletto heels. I've seen enough secretaries and receptionists on this case to last me a lifetime, Nancy thought.

Nancy walked around the small outer office. From the lone voice inside Allard's office,
Nancy assumed he was on the phone. She moved closer to his door, noticing it was slightly ajar.

“Don't worry,” she heard him saying. “Everything's under control. Yes. I said don't worry.” Then Nancy saw him catch her eye. “I'll talk to you later,” he said, quickly finishing his conversation.

Nancy covered herself by knocking softly on the door. “Can I come in?” she asked.

“Of course,” Allard said with a smile. “Just taking care of some business. What can I do for you today? Still thinking about the Gleason case?” he asked.

“Actually, yes,” Nancy answered. “I've been thinking about the missing money. Last night my father told me that the embezzled money had been stashed in the bank.”

“I seem to remember that was the case,” Allard said, rubbing his chin. “But from what I recall, the money disappeared from here, and none of it was ever recovered.”

“I was hoping you could help me find it, though.” It was a long shot, Nancy knew. Banks had all sorts of laws against anyone looking at their records.

Allard seemed to read her mind. “You realize I can't really allow you to see those records,” he said.

“I know it would be asking a lot,” Nancy
said. “But this is the last time I'll ask for your help.” She watched Allard's face for some kind of reaction, but his features remained a blank.

“I'll hold you to it,” he said, smiling. “It's a little unorthodox, but I still feel as if I owe Carson Drew a favor. Come with me.”

As Allard took Nancy down to the bank's record room, Nancy thought about how helpful he was being. If he was guilty, Allard had everything to lose by cooperating with her. Instead, he was even bending the law a bit to allow her to look at the records. That wasn't the act of a guilty man, she thought.

In the records room, Nancy saw stacks of computer printouts; several people were seated at terminals and microfiche readers working on bank statements.

“Alan here can help you,” Allard said, introducing her to a tall young man with thick blond hair and preppy round glasses. “Explain to him what you're looking for and maybe, between the two of you, you'll find it.”

Nancy thanked Allard and started telling Alan about Gleason's bank account.

“Let's see,” Alan said. His fingers quickly tapped out Gleason's name. “Eight years ago, you say. Hmmm. Here it is.” With a few keystrokes, Alan had pulled up a record of the account.

“Withdrawal. Closed out the account.
Whew! That's a lot of money to take out all at once.”

“Can you see if there's a record of a deposit around the same day for the same amount?” Nancy asked. “I'm trying to find out if the money appeared in some other account.”

“Good thought,” Alan said.
Tap, tap.
“Nope. Nothing. No large deposits into either a checking or a savings account.”

“Are you sure?” Nancy felt her disappointment rising.

“Look, I'm a pro. If I can't find it, no one can. That's what I told the other guy who was here a few days ago asking the same thing. What is it with this account, anyway? You're not from the IRS, are you?” Alan looked at Nancy over his glasses.

“Me? No.” Nancy barely even heard the question. “What's that you said about ‘the other guy'?”

“Mr. Allard brought a kid down here several days ago and told me to help him out the same way.” Alan leaned back in his chair. “I don't know what you people are doing, but personally, I have better things to do with my time.”

There was only one other person who would be so interested in the account, Nancy realized. “Sorry,” Nancy distractedly told Alan. “I'll let you get back to work.” She headed for the door.

“That kid, was he about six feet tall with
wavy brown hair and green eyes?” she turned to ask.

“Yep,” Alan said. “Is he a friend of yours?”

“Sort of,” Nancy said, as she left.

She and Chris Gleason had a lot to talk about and it couldn't wait another minute.

Nancy remembered that Cheryl had said Chris worked at a foreign-car shop in River Heights. At the second one she checked Nancy spotted a familiar figure working under a Porsche up on the lift.

“Chris,” she said, coming up to him. “I think you have some explaining to do.”

Chris turned around. “Oh, it's you. Look, I'm busy. Can it wait?”

“No, it can't,” she said firmly. Chris looked at her with a puzzled expression.

Nancy went on. “If you want me to help you find out who killed your father—if he really was killed—why are you doing your own investigating? What's going on?”

“Look, Nancy, I can't talk now. Maybe later.” Chris went back to work under the car.

Nancy looked around and saw that aside from the car Chris was working on, things seemed to be slow at the garage. She felt herself getting angry.

“Can't you take a break?” she asked.

“I told you—” Chris began. Nancy saw him look up. “That's strange—”

“What?” she asked.

Then Nancy saw what had caught his attention. With quick jerks, the lift holding up the Porsche was losing height. The car was rapidly lurching toward the ground.

And they were standing right beneath it!