Some Like It Hawk (32 page)

“You’re thinking Leonard Fisher?” I asked.

Denton nodded.

“Could be,” I said. “Would it change your mind if you heard that our former mayor is in town?”

“Is he? I thought he was in Cancún.”

“He was, but he flew back to the states just before Memorial Day. And was spotted in Clay County yesterday. We don’t know that he’s in town, but…”

Denton pondered.

“My money’s still on Fisher,” he said. “But I wouldn’t laugh if you suggested they might be in on it together.”

“Let’s call the chief,” I said. “And Festus. They need to see this.”

Chapter 39

Considering how interesting Denton and I thought our find was, we were a little frustrated at how long it took the chief to arrive. But we whiled away the time by photographing various bits of evidence and e-mailing them to Festus.

When the chief arrived, accompanied by Randall, it was obvious that the delay was frustrating to him, too.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’d have been here sooner if I hadn’t been so busy chasing down and arresting intoxicated Flying Monkeys.”

“They’ll catch hell from Wilt when he finds out,” Denton said.

“That would be highly unfair,” the chief said. “Considering it’s his fault they’re blotto. Gave them all the rest of the day off to celebrate Independence Day—which would have been a nice gesture if he hadn’t already put most of them on leave without pay—and provided several cases of beer to fuel the celebration. If I were a paranoid man, I could easily imagine he’d done it just to complicate my life.”

“I’m not paranoid and it sounds perfectly in character,” Denton said.

“So what is this new evidence you’ve found?” the chief asked.

Denton and I displayed the forgeries-in-progress. While we were waiting for the chief’s arrival, we’d heard back from Festus, who called to say that no, these were definitely not the real contracts, and he’d be back in Caerphilly at eight in the morning. I suspected his parents, with whom he was supposed to be celebrating the Fourth in Yorktown, were not altogether happy with the interruption. I made a note to warn Mother to expect a complaint about my behavior.

We also continued snooping in the contents of the computer, so we could give the chief a more coherent picture of what appeared to have happened.

“Started on June thirtieth,” I said. “Someone took a digital copy of the real contract and began using a graphics program on this computer to capture just the county board members’ signatures.”

“He wasn’t very good at it,” Denton said. “So he made a lot of mistakes and had to start over a lot. But he was patient and motivated, and eventually he got digital copies of all the signatures.”

“And then he started working on adding those signatures to another version of the contract,” I added. “Ours is twenty-three pages long, and in this one, the signature page is page twenty-five.”

“But he was still working on the second of the five signatures when something interrupted him,” Denton broke in.

“And the date and time stamp on the last file he saved was about forty-five minutes before Colleen Brown was shot.”

“So you think whoever was using this computer was interrupted by our evacuation of the building?” the chief asked.

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe he was interrupted by Colleen Brown.”

“What if she found the killer doing this and demanded an explanation?” Denton said. “And then the killer says, ‘It’d be easier just to show you—follow me.’”

“And he leads her down to the barricade,” I said. “And says, ‘Stand there a minute while I knock on the barricade.’”

“And blam!”

The chief looked from me to Denton a few times, blinking slightly.

“Your theory’s not inconsistent with the evidence,” he said finally.

“Yes!” Denton exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air. He probably hadn’t seen the Rancid Dreads doing the same thing.

“I don’t suppose you came up with any clues to who the killer is?” the chief asked.

“Whoever was using this computer,” I said. “They probably weren’t expecting anyone to find out they were here, so they probably didn’t wear gloves while using it.”

“And we didn’t touch it without our gloves,” Denton said. “So you might get fingerprints.”

“Or there might be some other evidence in the computer,” I said.

“We’ll work on that,” the chief said. “But right now, we need to get that document.”

Chapter 40

“I’m sure if we tell him what it is, Mr. Throckmorton can find it almost immediately,” I said.

“I’m sure he can,” the chief said. “but we need to get it out of the courthouse basement and into someplace safe. Someplace where it will be guarded a lot more carefully than I can do here.”

“Mr. Throckmorton has kept it safe for over a year,” I replied.

“A year during which no one knew the document was there,” the chief said. “Now we know, and even if we manage to keep it a secret, I think it’s pretty obvious from what’s been going on that the lender knows, too. Or do you want them murdering any more people trying to get it?”

I shook my head. I understood his point, but Mr. Throckmorton struck me as a person with very definite notions about things. Especially things like where official Caerphilly documents should be kept.

“We go public,” Randall said. “Let them know we have the document safe in our archives, and—”

“I’d rather not go public until we have that document safe somewhere else,” the chief said. “I’m thinking a bank vault.”

“I can talk to Phinny.” Randall pulled out his cell phone. But he looked dubious, as if he shared my reservations about how Mr. Throckmorton would react.

“I wouldn’t,” Denton said. “I can’t prove it, but I think they’ve tapped his phone line. I wouldn’t say anything over the phone that you don’t want them to know.”

We all looked at each other. Randall put away his cell phone.

“Not a big surprise,” I said. “We’ve been acting all along under the assumption that they might do that. We could go talk to him through the barrier.”

“He nailed it shut this afternoon,” the chief said. “I think having a murder so nearby shook him up a lot more than we realized.”

“Someone needs to go in there and get it,” Randall said.

“Go in there?” Denton echoed. “You really do have a way in?”

“You should do it,” the chief said to Randall. “You’re friends.”

“We go way back,” Randall said. “To grade school. But we’re not exactly buddies. And I think it might be my fault he’s in there. I was the one who went down to tell him about the evacuation. Apparently I came across a little too bossy and told him he had to pack up and get out now. Phinny always had trouble with authority figures.”

“Then I don’t suppose he’d take it well if I went over,” the chief said.

“No, I’m afraid you’re even worse at gentle persuasion than me,” Randall said. “But I have an idea.”

I realized he was looking at me. He was going to ask me to go over in that damned tunnel again.

“You could deputize Meg,” Randall was saying. “And send her over.”

“If you’re worried about her safety,” Denton said, “I’d be happy to go along and help.”

“You just want to find out how to get there,” I said.

“There is that,” he admitted. “But it’s for my own curiosity, not to help my former employer.”

We all looked at the chief.

Just then his cell phone rang. He pulled it out and glanced at it.

“Damn,” he said as he flipped it open. “What now?… No, I’m inside—I can’t see the courthouse steps from here.”

I strolled over to the window where I could see them.

“Demonstration? What kind of … Good lord. I’ll be right out. Okay, what else?… Blast!” He snapped his phone shut.

“Meg,” he said. “If you’re willing to talk to Mr. Throckmorton, go.”

My stomach churned slightly, but I kept my face calm and nodded.

“And can I go along to help?” Denton asked.

The chief studied him for a moment, then nodded.

“You’ve earned it,” he said. “I admit, I didn’t think your fishing expedition here in the courthouse would turn up anything. I was wrong. Now get moving, both of you. Apparently there’s an army of naked mimes doing the cha-cha on the courthouse steps.”

“Only nine of them, actually,” I reported, from my post at the window. “And I think they’re doing more of a line dance.”

“And worse,” the chief went on, “one of those wretched Flying Monkeys is on the roof of my old police station, waving a gun. They don’t know if he’s firing rounds or just setting off firecrackers.”

The police station. It was a good ten blocks from the town square, where Michael and the boys were. But still.

“Good lord,” Randall said.

The chief hurried out.

“Call me when you’re back and I’ll take charge of the document,” Randall said. “Maybe I can get my cousin Melvin to put it in the vault at the First Farmer’s Bank.”

He scrambled to follow the chief.

Denton joined me at the window.

“How come the people who insist on taking their clothes off in public are never the ones you want to see in the altogether?” he asked.

I decided to assume this was a rhetorical question that I could ignore. Although I agreed with him.

“So how do we get to the basement?” Denton turned away from the window with a final shudder.

“I’ll show you.”

When we got out into the hall, I suddenly realized I needed to go to the bathroom. Was it because we’d been so absorbed in the documents before that I only noticed it now? Or were my nerves affecting my bladder? And should I call to check on the boys?

“Hang on,” I said. “Pit stop.”

I peed as quickly as I could and washed up in a hurry. Normally I’d have stopped to clean up the water I’d splashed around, but I tossed my paper towel in the trash can and pulled out my cell phone.

Michael answered on the second ring.

“The boys are fine,” he said. “We’ve heard there was some trouble over at the police station, but everything’s quiet here.”

“Are you sure? You could always take the boys home.”

“They’d pitch a fit,” he said. “They’ve been saying nothing but ‘fah-wah!’ and ‘boom!’ for the last hour. Every time someone waves around a sparkler or lights a small cracker, it sets them off again.”

“The Flying Monkeys are drunk, and they’ve all got guns,” I said.

He was silent for a few moments.

“Okay, I tell you what. Muriel offered to let us watch from the roof of her restaurant if we wanted to. Really good view, and she only lets a few friends and relatives up there. I’ll tell her I’d like to take her up on it after all.”

“I like that idea,” I said.

“Are you still in the courthouse?”

“Yes,” I said. “And will be for a little while longer. Long story; I’ll fill you in later. But I’ll try to get there in time to watch the fireworks with you.”

As we finished our conversation, I jerked the bathroom door open and strode out. Denton was standing where I’d left him, adjusting the gorilla head. I couldn’t see his expression, of course, but his body language screamed impatience. He pushed the elevator button.

“Gotta run,” I told Michael. “Love you. Follow me,” I added, to Denton. “And keep your head on and don’t talk to anyone.”

As we rode down in the elevator, I called Rose Noire.

“Is the coast clear?” I asked. “Or can you make it clear?”

“Students coming and going, but if you need a moment, I’m sure we can find one,” she said. “It’s pretty much all hands onstage whenever there’s a battle scene.”

We hurried across the entrance hall, waving at Aida, and loped down the courthouse steps. We had to dodge mimes, the deputies who were hauling them down to the fleet of patrol cars, and the scattered groups of people sitting on the steps, getting good places for both the current show and the fireworks to come, no doubt.

I half walked, half ran, with Denton trailing behind me. He was winded by the time we got to the tent.

“Damn,” I said. “It’s one of the quiet parts.”

“They’re signing the Declaration of Independence,” Rose Noire said. “But don’t worry—the Shiffleys finished their work during the Sousa ballet.”

“Awesome!” I said. “Come on,” I added, motioning to Denton, who was still leaning over, hands on his knees, wheezing. “You’re about to find out what you’ve been seeking for so long.”

Denton muttered something unintelligible, straightened up, and stumbled behind us as Rose Noire led the way to the crawl space.

The old trapdoor had stuck up several inches out of the ground. The new one was a lot more unobtrusive. All you could see was what looked like a large storm-drain grate flush with the ground. Rose Noire lifted that up, revealing the trapdoor.

Then she leaned down and grabbed the trapdoor handle. I winced instinctively as she pulled, but the door came up with only a faint swishing noise from the brand-new, well-oiled hinges.

Denton looked down and made a sort of strangled noise.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s perfectly safe. As long as you’re not claustrophobic, you’ll be fine. And if you are claustrophobic—well, just stay here and help Rose Noire guard the trapdoor.”

I heard Denton swallow, and then he straightened his spine.

“Right,” he muttered.

“’I’ll go down first,” I said. If he was claustrophobic, like Horace, maybe he’d buck up after seeing me do it. And if he froze in the tunnel, I could let Rose Noire talk him back out of it while I accomplished my mission.

“Okay,” I said to Denton. “Ever seen the World War II movie
The Great Escape
?” He nodded. “Remember the little carts they had so they could ride through the tunnels instead of crawling?” Another nod. “Down the ladder. Take the first cart. Pull yourself hand over hand to the end of the line. Transfer to the second cart. Same thing until you get to the courthouse basement. Wait up here till you see the cart reappear.”

With that I scrambled down the ladder.

Chapter 41

You didn’t have to be claustrophobic to hate the tunnel, I decided. You just had to have a reasonably good imagination. As soon as I entered the tunnel, I could think of all kinds of things that could go wrong. What if a water main broke and flooded the tunnel? What if another earthquake broke all the wooden supports again? Or what if termites had been slowly and insidiously working on them? What if the recent work had severed a power line that I could run over with the metal-wheeled cart? What if some joker dropped a bottle rocket down the tunnel?