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Monday, September 20
Talking with the chief was difficult, but not as painful as it could have been. The chief agreed they’d need more concrete evidence to go after Forsythe than a kidnapping from a man who asked suspicious questions but hadn’t once mentioned Forsythe’s name. Adam didn’t bring up Beverly’s role but told Quinn he had several leads that could help.
After heading home and only once—briefly—thinking about asking Beverly to join him for supper, he’d called it a night and slept soundly, no nightmares for a change. Maybe he should thank Goldie for helping to purge a few demons haunting Adam since his captivity two years ago. This time, he’d won.
He pulled up to the Apple Valley Resort on the dot of ten, and Beverly bounded out to the car with a big smile on her face. She climbed in, and he looked over at her. “Back to dark hair. I think I prefer it that way.”
She laughed. “I should try purple. Go punk or Goth.”
Adam pointed the car east, and they drove for several minutes in companionable silence. Adam spoke up first. “Are you sure you saw blood on Goldie’s arm and shoulder?”
She sounded confused. “Goldie?”
“Sorry. That’s the nickname I gave him. One gold tooth right in front.”
“Goldie, it is. Yes, you most definitely got him at least once.”
“No gunshot victims turned up at any area hospitals. It’s a good bet he drove far afield or had someone tend to him off the grid.”
Beverly asked, “You didn’t recognize him? Or find his photo in the mug shot database?”
“’Fraid not.”
“You look awfully bright-eyed. I hope neither your eyes nor your boss gave you much trouble this morning.”
“Correct on both counts. But we need a much stronger case against Forsythe. And we don’t know how much his failed interrogation of me is going to affect his plans. We have to work fast.”
Beverly held up the envelope she’d brought with her. “This is the evidence I mentioned. A tape of a phone conversation between him and the representative.”
“Is that the only copy?”
“The only one I’ve got. I’m not aware of any others.”
Adam pointed to a group of geese overhead flying south. “Great bird watching this time of year.”
“I guess I can add birdwatching to fishing on your list of interests.”
“And I don’t know any of yours, other than following detectives around.”
“That’s my new job.”
“Doesn’t pay much.”
“That remains to be seen.”
He glanced at her, noting her smirk. “You’re good at this detectivy thing. You should put out your shingle. And you’d still get to wear disguises on occasion.”
“Now there’s an idea. What does it take to be a private eye in Vermont?”
“It’s tougher than other states. You’d need a license, fingerprinting, a background check, two years of related experience, and a written exam.”
“Lot easier just to do what I’ve been doing.”
“In the short term. Don’t you think about your future?”
She fell quiet. Then she said, “I don’t think about it much. One day, one week to the next. Unfettered, no responsibilities, no landing site.”
“No permanent address?” He knew what he’d uncovered in his research but wanted to hear her reply.
“A room I rent for legal purposes. But my primary residence is a post office box.”
“Kinda small to squeeze into.”
She punched him lightly on the arm. “Speaking of futures, I saw you talking to a woman with short red hair the other day. Cute, stylish. Seemed like you knew each other well.”
“Zelda. My ex-wife.”
“I hope it was an amicable split.”
“She believed it was. She married the mayor.”
“I’m sorry, Adam. I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”
“S’okay. For the best, I guess.” He slowed down when they came to an unmarked four-way intersection. “Which way?”
“To the right. I remember it from the dead sycamore tree over there.”
With Beverly guiding him along the increasingly lonely and increasingly more narrow roads, they eventually pulled around down a long driveway to a house looming in front of them. No, make that a castle.
He asked, “This is the place?”
“Um-hmm. See Yin and Yang over there?”
He spied the two animals in the fenced-in yard. “Are those yaks?”
“You really are an outdoorsman. A-plus for your animal identification skills.”
Adam looked around the castle-like dwelling and spied several high-tech security systems that would be hard to see if you weren’t in the business. A motion detector greeted them from the bushes at the head of the driveway, and floodlights under the eaves of the house doubled as cameras with thermal imaging.
The door opened and revealed a man about Adam’s height clad in black slacks, black shirt, and a black scarf. With a Scandinavian blond mane and cool, gray eyes, he looked more like a Nordic god than Greek, as his name would suggest.
The man said. “So this is your Adam Dutton, Beverly. Do come in.”
He led them to a den that could be a movie set in Hollywood. “Beverly enjoys my yak-milk hot chocolate. Would you care for some? It’s non-alcoholic. And unpoisoned.”
Adam looked to Beverly, who said, “It’s quite good. And it is a pretty chilly morning out there.”
Mr. X brought back a tray with three mugs. Adam took one and sipped the drink. Tangy, gamey, salty. With the sweetness of the chocolate, it worked.
Mr. X propped his feet up on a footstool. “What can I tell you about Reggie Forsythe? That is why you came, I presume?”
“I had an encounter yesterday—”
Beverly jumped in, “He was kidnapped.”
Adam continued, “By a man asking me questions. About what I knew regarding the suspects in the theft of Forsythe’s bowl and his father’s murder.”
Mr. X tutted. “Reggie is getting sloppy. That is why he and his father argued so much. Reggie is always in a hurry, wants what he wants now. He’s been lucky so far not to make too big of a slip-up. But that may be coming to an end. Tell me, what did this man look like?”
“Five-eleven or so, two-thirty, lots of muscle, and a laugh like a hyena. And one upper gold tooth in the front.”
“Gabriel Karlstad. Forsythe used him once several years ago. I found the man to be a caveman. Strike that—that’s being unkind to cavemen.”
Adam pulled a small notebook out of his pocket and wrote down the name. “He lives around here?”
“If you call that living. He spends most of his days and nights in an encampment near Sutton’s Grove. A quasi-gypsy group. But no one asks any questions. Live and let live.”
“I know the place.” Adam nodded. “I nicked him with one bullet. Would this camp have someone who could dig that out?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“I wonder what he reported back to Forsythe?”
“I doubt he did. And if he did, his failure might have sealed his fate.”
“That means Forsythe may not know for sure that we know he’s involved in the kidnapping and likely his father’s murder.”
Mr. X set down his cup and tented his fingers together. “I don’t envy you the task ahead of you, Detective. The murder will be hard to prove and fraught with peril.”
Beverly picked up the envelope she’d laid on the table next to her. “This has proof of Reggie Forsythe bribing Representative Strudwick.”
Mr. X looked at the envelope. “A transcript or tape?”
Beverly replied, “Both.”
“I assume you haven’t made copies yet?”
When she answered no, Mr. X said, “I have duplication machines in my office. I could make a copy for you, and you could listen simultaneously.” He looked over at Adam, his eyebrows raised into a question mark.
Adam hesitated at first, but then he relented, and the trio traipsed back to a room with enough high-tech gear to put the NYPD to shame. Mr. X placed the tape in a small duplicating machine and reached into a drawer to grab a blank one. Then, as he began the duplication process, he cranked up the volume on a set of speakers.
A man’s voice started off, and Adam recognized it immediately as Forsythe’s nasal tenor. The other man’s voice sounded older, less assured. Adam could get his hands on a video of Strudwick speaking and compare the two later to make sure it was him. But the gist of the conversation was clear. Forsythe and Strudwick discussed a bill coming up that would change one of the regulations overseeing antique stores. Forsythe laid out everything Strudwick was to do, when he was to do it, and how he should do it.
And then he reminded Strudwick of the man’s dire financial situation and how much money would be wired to his bank account if he did everything exactly as Forsythe said. As a parting shot, Forsythe added that he hoped Strudwick’s wife and children were doing well. And how Forsythe was sure that Strudwick would like them to continue doing well. The veiled threat wasn’t lost on Strudwick, whose voice quavered as he agreed to Forsythe’s plan.
When the tape finished playing, Mr. X popped the original out and handed it back to Beverly. He took the new copy and said, “I have a nice secure place for this. I guarantee it will be safer there than in any police evidence closet.”
Adam didn’t know how much he should trust Mr. X at this point. He came across as being eager to help them nail Forsythe, but could this all be part of an elaborate trap? His face must have registered his distrust because Mr. X added, “I will be most happy to see Reginald Forsythe pay for his sins.”
Adam said, “Why haven’t you turned him in, yourself?”
“That should be obvious, my dear Detective. It would mean turning myself in, too. I’m not proud of everything in my past, but it’s my past. My future is what I’m worried about. And that means being a regular, legal antiques dealer and yak farmer.”
They returned to the den, and Adam drained the last bits of the chocolate. Even lukewarm, it was pretty good. “All right, then. We need a plan. First, we’ll have to find out what Mayor Lehmann’s connection is to Forsythe. Is it just his ambitions needing Forsythe’s backing or something worse? Second, I need to find Gabriel Karlstad and get him to sing to save his own skin. Third, we need a motive for Forsythe to kill his father, and if we’re lucky, proof.”
Beverly said, “You can leave that last one to Harlan and me.”
Adam asked, “Harlan?”
“As you said, the murder isn’t technically in your jurisdiction, so your poking around asking questions about Reggie Forsythe would look too suspicious to him, his attorneys, and the Hartford PD. I think we need to talk to Reginald Forsythe’s widow, and she’d clam up in front of a cop.”
Mr. X said, “You could use the evidence you have in hand to get him convicted for influence peddling. That would avenge Beverly’s grandmother.”
Adam had considered that, too, but discounted it. “As a last resort. Even though his father wasn’t a saint, I want Forsythe to go down for his murder.”
After Beverly and Adam had left Mr. X’s castle, Adam asked her, “Interesting man. I think he was quite taken with you.”
Beverly giggled. “He is an interesting man, I’ll give you that. But you’re more his type.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s gay. You didn’t see the way he was eyeing you?”
Adam shook his head. “Glad I didn’t.”
“Oh, come on. A handsome guy like you has never been hit on by another man before?”
“Once. In a bar. Not a gay bar, just a bar bar.”
“What did you do? Punch his lights out?”
“No, I arrested him.”
Beverly’s jaw dropped open, and when her eyes narrowed, he laughed. “Not for that. He was wanted for credit card fraud.”
