Chapter Forty-five

By the time Parrott left Delaware Rehab, the sun was chasing the horizon, dragging her petticoats behind her. He checked his voicemails and found one from Herman. The man’s naturally loud voice came across as exuberant.

“Hey, Ollie. I’ve set up a meeting for you and Tonya, your mother, and me with Brock Thornton. Tomorrow morning at ten at my office in Exton. I expected it to take weeks, months even, to get an audience with this guy—hard to see as the Pope—but he seemed very interested in working with our little group. I hope Tonya’s free and you can get the time off from work. Your mom has cleared her calendar. Call me if there’s a problem. Otherwise, see you there.”

The satisfaction of placing another piece into the jigsaw puzzle caused Parrott to hum a little tune. He jumped into his car and called the Chief, before heading northwest toward home.

“Parrott? You in the car? Me, too. Got some news?” The chief was decidedly in a loquacious mood.

“Sounds like you’ve got something. You go first.”

“Okay. Sylvester came through with some great stuff. His report’s in your inbox. Lots of detailed info on all the characters—Thornton, Caballero, Anderson, Wukitsch, and Pennington. No surprise, but the common denominator looks to be Claire Whitman. But Pennington’s a common denominator, too—at least for Thornton and Caballero.”

Parrott’s skin tingled as he pulled around an eighteen-wheeler going ten miles under the speed limit. “We know Pennington is the biological father of Tammie Caballero, but how does he connect with Thornton?”

“Evidently, when Thornton moved to Brandywine, Pennington was the first to sign on with the investment company. Pennington introduced Thornton around. Many of Pennington’s friends became clients, too.” The click of the paper clip in Schrik’s mouth caused Parrott to smile. The odd habit had kept the chief cigarette-free for several years. “Pennington’s credibility is impeccable, and that helped Thornton build his business—which is quite lucrative. Last year he reported personal income of over twenty million.”

Parrott, of all people, understood that money was round—it could roll away from you just as suddenly as it rolled toward you. But something about Brock Thornton’s success in Brandywine raised his suspicions. “What did Thornton do before he came to Brandywine, and where?”

“There you go, asking the perfect question again. Sylvester couldn’t find anything at all about Brock Thornton prior to his coming here. Nothing. A blank slate.”

Prickles ran up and down Parrott’s spine. If Sylvester couldn’t find something, that meant there was nothing to be found. “Brock Thornton never existed before coming to Brandywine.”

“That’s right. His wife, either. There are stories floating out there about being from the East coast, families that came over on the Mayflower, vast experience on Wall Street, but nothing verifiable.”

Parrott thought of Herman and his confidence in Thornton’s abilities. “If that’s right, lots of smart people may have been taken in.”

Parrott stopped for a red light and admired the Old English sheepdog being walked across the street on a leash. “Exactly. Now, what’ve you got for me?”

“Two things. Interviewed Wyatt Wukitsch, Charlie’s son, over at Delaware Rehab. The guy’s in deep detox withdrawal, but wants to come clean. He alleges he was paid to rough up his father. Took the job because he was desperate for money. All contact with the mastermind was anonymous. Notes left on and in Wyatt’s automobile.”

“You believe him?”

“I do. I’m going to check out the neighborhood, see if there are any cameras on that street. See if there are prints on the car. The story smacks of an amateur, but, if it turns out to be true, it indicates pre-meditation by whoever killed Anderson and blew up the barn.”

“That’s right, Parrott. What’s the second thing?”

The irony of his upcoming meeting with Brock Thornton after hearing about Sylvester’s findings caused Parrott to chuckle. “You won’t believe this, Chief. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning at ten to discuss investing with Thornton. Tonya, my mother, my mother’s significant other, and me. Requesting time off.”

“Hah, I take it you aren’t serious about investing. Especially now.”

“The rest of the group is serious, but I only agreed to the meeting because I wanted to meet the elusive financial planner, get a bead on how he operates. Just kidding about the time off. I’ll be working the case the whole time.”

“That’s brilliant. Thornton is notorious for dealing only with Brandywine’s wealthy elite. You’re the only detective I know who’d qualify.”

Uncomfortable with the comment, Parrott disconnected and pulled onto his street. He had a strange thought. Finally, there’s a practical use for all this money.