The Mournful Teddy (29 page)

“She left for the teddy bear show.”

“In a hurry, I might add.” Poole looked puzzled, and I continued, “I saw her take off out of here like she had the pole position at the Indy 500. Why did she go to the teddy bear show?”

“She thought that the deal had fallen apart and that the bear might actually go up for auction.”

“So what did you do while she was gone?”

“I must have called Trent ten times, leaving messages 248

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and telling him I was ready to deal. He finally called back and told me that there’d been a temporary delay and to stop bugging him.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said, not adding:
unless there’d been some sort of dispute between Trent and
Holcombe over the sale of the teddy bear.

“But at some point you finally did hear from Trent.”

“It was Gene Holcombe that called . . . earlier today.

He told me he was going to be handling the negotiations from now on and that he was ready to sell the bear.”

“Did he change any of the terms?”

“No, it was still seventy-thirty and he told me that if I talked to you, the very best I could expect out of the rest of my life was becoming an inmate’s girlfriend and making license plates at the state penitentiary.”

“At least he didn’t threaten to toss you into the river.

What happened next?”

“We met this afternoon right here around three-thirty.”

Poole gestured listlessly at our chairs.

Ash looked stunned. “That means the Mourning Bear was out in her car while she was at our house . . . which explains why she was in such a hurry to leave.”

“I wonder why she even bothered to come by. She could have just called you and cancelled.” Turning to Poole, I said, “Did she know we were investigating?”

“Holcombe mentioned it. He wasn’t happy.”

“There’s your answer, sweetheart. She was concerned that if she cancelled and we later learned she was in town, we might have connected her to this carnival of crime.

Okay, back to the meeting. What happened?”

Poole grimaced. “There isn’t much to tell. Holcombe brought the Mourning Bear and Lorraine had the cashier’s check. I have no idea of where Trent was. Anyway, it took all of five minutes, but there was one kind of funny moment.”

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“Really? What happened?”

“Holcombe got all puffed up and started to threaten Lorraine about what would happen if she talked about the deal. Well, she turned right around and told him to ‘shove it’ and said that she had investors up in Boston who were experts in making troublesome people have fatal accidents.”

“Mob connections?”

“That’s how I took it.”

“That’s how I’d take it too. What happened next?”

“Lorraine left with the bear and Holcombe took the check.”

“I take it he didn’t trust you’d be here tomorrow morning so that you could go to the bank together?”

“I don’t know what he thought. You’ll have to ask him.” Poole suddenly sounded very tired and petulant.

“So, what’s going to happen to me?”

“You’ll probably be booked into jail sometime tonight, but you’re going to have to wait your turn because you’re relatively low on the list. I expect that the interim sheriff, Barron, is going to be very busy for the next few hours arresting Holcombe, Trent, Cleland,
and
the murderer.”

Poole blanched. “But I thought Trent was the murderer.”

“Nah. Trent robbed Thayer, shot his truck up, and probably threw him in the river to scare the bejeezus out of him, but he didn’t kill him. Somebody else did that later.”

“But the recording—the message.”

“The message hurts you almost as much as it does Trent because it shows your participation in a preexisting criminal conspiracy to steal and sell the Mourning Bear.”

“But he admitted to killing Thayer.”

“No, he didn’t. You need to listen to that recording 250

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more carefully. Trent just said that he’d thrown Thayer into the river—which he did. And do you want to hear the most deliciously ironic part about all of this? Trent didn’t know that Thayer was dead when he made that call. In short, you’ve got no leverage, and the Commonwealth’s Attorney is going to try and crucify you in order to show the voters that he’s lily white and
shocked
at your criminal behavior. And even if you avoid a prison term, once people around here understand the depths of your misconduct, you’ll be a pariah.”

“You deliberately misled me.”

“But it was for a good cause.” I kept the mockery from my voice and it seemed to sting Poole that much more. “I wanted the truth and that seemed more of an effective tool than appealing to your conscience. Would you have told me anything otherwise?”

He looked out the window. “Then I guess that’s it.”

“Oh no, that isn’t ‘it.’ ” Ash stood up and placed her hands on the desk so that her face was only a few inches from Poole’s. “The last time I looked, lusting after another man’s wife was a sin. All those hugs and—stupid me—I thought it was innocent. After all, you’re an old childhood friend and a clergyman. But then I learned about that rumor you started—I guess I was one of the very last ones in town to hear it—and now I know the truth.”

Poole looked down at the desktop and remained silent.

“Oh, spare me the I’m-so-ashamed act. You aren’t capable of understanding how dirty and idiotic you’ve made me feel in front of my husband, family, and neighbors.”

Looking up, he began to say something.

“So help me God, if you say you’re sorry, I’ll slap you.”

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Poole shut his mouth.

“One other thing: You’ve got to have several screws loose to be able to rationalize all the evil things you’ve done. But you have to be a raving lunatic to think I’d leave this man for anyone on earth, let alone for a selfish and cowardly little nothing like you.”

Chapter 22

As we drove down the driveway toward the road, I asked,

“Feeling better?”

“A little.”

“I really enjoyed that last part when you threw Poole’s framed Bible College diploma against the wall and then kicked it to pieces.” I quietly chuckled.

“I
warned
him not to say he was sorry. He’s lucky I didn’t break it over his head.” Ash took a deep breath and then smiled slightly. “Actually, I’m beginning to feel pretty good. Can I smash something in Holcombe’s office?”

“Probably not.”

“But if you decide you need something smashed, I’m your girl.”

“You’ve always been my girl, Ash. Always and forever.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” She leaned over to kiss my cheek. “So, how are you going to handle the interview with Holcombe and Trent?”

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“That we’re the only people in the world who can keep Trent from taking the lethal-injection elevator to hell and we don’t want our time wasted. I’m not going to be anywhere near as circumspect at getting to the point,” I said, turning the truck into Pinckney’s lot and parking beside Tina’s patrol car.

The front window of the restaurant had a closed sign on it, but Tina opened the door. “Come on in. Sergei decided to close for the afternoon and help us.”

We went inside and I saw Sergei bent over some electronic equipment on a table. He grunted, “Business was slow, so I thought it would be a good idea to make sure this was done properly.”

I went to the table and took a closer look. The base radio receiver was the size of a large toolbox with a four-foot-tall antenna jutting from the top and contained a built-in cassette tape recorder. Beside the receiver was a transmitter power pack of roughly the same dimensions as a small wireless phone and attached to the bottom was a flexible two-foot-long beige-colored wire microphone.

The equipment had to be at least fifteen years old, yet it was lightyears ahead of anything I’d ever used while working for SFPD.

“So, who’s going to wear the wire?” Sergei asked.

“I think it has to be Ash. You okay with that, honey?”

“Sure. What do I have to do?”

“I thought you’d never ask. We both go into the back-room and you undo your pants.”

“Brad!”

Sergei laughed, as did Tina, who also blushed.

“I’m not kidding. We have to put this in the small of your back below your waistband.” I held up the transmitter. “We’ll tape it in place to make sure it doesn’t move.

Then, we take this wire antenna and bring it around front and up under your blouse. We’ll secure it in such a 254

John J. Lamb

manner that our radio surveillance team can keep abreast of the situation.”

She gave me a mischievous grin. “And I suppose you’ll help me with that too.”

“I live to serve. Got some bandage tape, Sergei?”

“There’s a roll of it in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.”

“If we’re not back in ten minutes . . . give us another ten minutes.”

It took considerably less than ten minutes to tape the transmitter to the small of her back and to slip the microphone wire into the right cup of her bra. Ash buttoned everything back up and I closely scrutinized her chest to make sure the wire wasn’t visible through the fabric.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked.

“This is purely professional.”

“Right. Are you making all these jokes because you’re scared?”

“Petrified. This could turn very bad and it’ll be my fault if it does. Add the fact that I can’t envision life without you and it’s a wonder I can even function.”

“You’ll bring us through this just fine.” She took my face in her hands and gave me a long, slow kiss.

“Okay you two, you can come on out! We’re receiving you just fine! In fact, right down to the smacking lips!”

Sergei called from the dining room.

Emerging from the back of the restaurant, I said,

“You’re just jealous, Sergei.”

“That’s true,” he said gravely.

I turned to Tina. “All right, here’s how we’ll do this.

You wait here until we’ve finished the interview. You’ll be able to tell if it’s gone well and can be standing by to take them into custody. However, if this goes to hell and one of them begins cranking off rounds, under no circumstances are you to John Wayne–it and try to make a The Mournful Teddy

255

rescue, pilgrim. There’ll be no point in charging in because it will be too late to do anything for us. Secure the scene and get some reinforcements. Understand?”

Tina nodded, shook hands with me, and gave Ash a hug.

I started to give Sergei a handshake but—Russians being some of the most sentimental people on earth—he yanked me close and gave me a bear hug. He said quietly,

“From one Borzoi to another, you must assume an attitude of icy and total moral ascendancy when you enter that office. I know their type and they will submit if they unquestionably believe they’ve met their master.”

“Thanks, that’s damn good advice. Let’s just hope I can fool them into thinking I’m moral.”

“Just be yourself . . . except not quite such an insufferable smart-mouth.” He gave me a wry grin.

“Much as I’d love to, I can’t argue with that advice.

Ready, honey?” I held out my hand.

Ash took it and we left the restaurant. As I’ve mentioned before, it’s very difficult for me to hold hands and walk while using my cane, but this time I gritted my teeth and ignored the pain. I wasn’t going to let go. As we walked, I thought about the first time we’d ever held hands.

It was on our second date as we were exploring the Torpedo Factory Art Center in Old Town Alexandria and her hand slipped into mine as if it had always belonged there.

We crossed the road, passed the courthouse, and arrived in front of the Sheriff ’s Department. I considered pausing before the glass door to tell Ash I loved her one more—and perhaps last—time, but there wasn’t the opportunity. Trent was waiting just inside and he shoved the door open.

“Get in here! Where have you been?” His voice was menacing yet there was a barely suppressed look of panic in his eyes.

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I straightened my back and fixed him with a chilly stare. “Young man, in light of the fact that we are the only ones capable of keeping you from finishing the remainder of your life on death row, let’s establish the ground rules right now. You will lower your voice, you will speak courteously to my wife and me, and you will behave as an adult. Do I make myself abundantly clear?”

Trent was the first to blink. “Yes . . . sir.”

“Good. Take me to your father. We don’t have all day.”

Ash squeezed my hand as Trent led us past the reception desk, down a corridor, and into an office at the back of the building. The office wasn’t quite how I imagined it would be. Holcombe had impressed me as being austere, yet his workspace was anything but. Hanging on one wall was a hand-made quilt composed of gold, brown, ivory, and russet fabric in a striking design that incorporated the six-pointed star of the Sheriff ’s Office. On the opposite side were framed color pictures of the Blue Ridge Mountains and lovely shots of the river. The only overt bit of evidence that the office belonged to a lawman was the black-and-white photograph of a younger and smiling Eugene Holcombe having a badge pinned to his uniform shirt by a pretty woman with a Farrah Fawcett hairdo and wearing a dark dress with tiny white polka dots. And now the older and spent version of that man sat behind an oak desk.

I pointed to one of the chairs and said to Trent, “Sit down. Now before we get started, take off your badges.”

“Why?” Trent slouched into the chair.

“Because criminals aren’t supposed to wear badges.” I kept my voice dispassionate. “You’ve both betrayed your oaths of office and have no right to wear any symbols of law enforcement authority.”

Holcombe didn’t argue. Indeed, he almost looked as if he were in a trance. He took his badge off and set it on the The Mournful Teddy

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desktop. Trent sighed, gritted his teeth, and finally removed his badge.

“Good. The next order of business is to establish the ground rules for this interrogation. We have neither the time nor the inclination to play word games, or Trent-hasselective-amnesia, or ‘twenty questions.’ You will answer my questions truthfully and not hold back any information.”