Sloane was headed back to Denwick when Katie Chen called. “Hey, Chen. You’re late. Make me glad to hear from you.”
“Jeez, classy greeting. I broke a hundred rules and maybe a few laws for you, and that’s how you say hello? And after all this time. You haven’t called me since the Lewinsky case. How about you woo me a little before I give up the info?”
Sloane laughed and pulled Pearl into a turnout area. If she had anything close to a friend, Katie Chen fit the role. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ve missed you, and hearing your voice makes my day brighter.”
“Did you say you’re sorry? Jeez Louise. What is Canada doing to you? Never mind. I don’t have time for chitchat. Promise me our business doesn’t get back to Jacobson.”
“Have I ever divulged my sources?”
“No, but I need to say it. It makes me feel better.”
Sloane heard tapping on a keyboard.
“All right, here’s what I got. Only two businesses are in financial trouble, the Spotted Owl Inn and Pub and Reed’s Fish Market. Oscar Keane is the only one in personal debt.”
“Yeah, well, one of my suspect’s debt isn’t going to show up on a legal report.”
“Whoever hired Morris is clever. I couldn’t find any exchanges between US and Canadian dollars. But I did highlight some suspicious transactions in green. I’ll email the records right now. Then they’re gone, and you never saw them, right?”
“Got it. I owe you big.”
“Just buy me a slice when you get back.”
“You’re on.”
Her phone pinged, and she opened Chen’s email. The transactions highlighted in green were on the Spotted Owl’s business account and Oscar’s personal bank account. Jesus, talk about amateur night, she thought. The patterns weren’t just suspicious. They were blinking arrows saying “embezzlement here.” Several payments from the Spotted Owl to Sunshine Coast Foods corresponded with cash deposits into Oscar’s personal account. How long had Fiona been propping him up? Could the fear of two companies bankrupting drive her to kill?
She scanned the Keanes’, Reeds’, and Huxhams’ personal finances, searching back five months. No transactions between the US East Coast and Canada in any reports.
Chen had also included the suspects’ business financials and credit reports. She highlighted an entry in the Huxham Law file. Three weeks earlier, Charles had obtained an equity loan against the 414 Main Street property for three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The funds were posted yesterday.
“Shit.” Sloane shoved the papers under her seat and called Charles. Voice mail picked up. “Charles, it’s Sloane West. I’m on my way to pick up the Degas, and I need to talk to you. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” She threw her phone into the passenger’s seat and slammed Pearl into gear and pulled back onto the road.
She parked next to Charles’s Mercedes in its spot behind the Huxham building. The sky was still dark, and the rain had been replaced by mist. Old Main hummed with lunchtime shoppers. Sloane walked to the law office’s front door. It was locked, and Charles wasn’t answering his phone. She parted a crowd standing outside The Grind and checked inside. No sign of him. Then she walked down to the Spotted Owl.
Ken was alone behind the bar, pouring drinks nonstop. Every table on the floor was taken, and Rose ran plates back and forth. On one of Rose’s passes through the dining room, she noticed Sloane, dropped off the plates in her hands and walked over. “Are you here for lunch?”
“I can’t today. I thought maybe I’d find Charles Huxham here. Have you seen him?”
“No. He’s not that brave. Why? What’s going on?”
“Hopefully, nothing. Is your mom here?”
“No. If she was, I wouldn’t be running my ass off.” Rose closed her eyes and smoothed back her hair. “Sorry. I’m pissed she left us alone on a Friday lunch rush.”
“No problem. I understand. You’re swamped.”
“Totally in the weeds.” Rose looked around the dining room. “Can you come back later? I’m off at five-thirty. You can interrogate my mom and have dinner with me. Don’t say no.”
Sloane smiled. “How could I refuse?”
Rose stuck a pencil into the mass of auburn curls piled up on her head. “Great. It’s a date.” Then she turned and greeted her new table.
Sloane snuck out of the pub without Ken seeing her. She scanned Old Main again. The fish market was closed and the lights off. Busy time to be closed, she thought. Next door, Lore Reed was pulling out her work cart. “Hey, Lore.”
“Hello, Sloane,” she said in a cheerful voice.
“Busy day, huh?”
“Oh, yes. This is your first Friday at Old Main, isn’t it? We’re usually steady, but we have a better-than-usual afternoon crowd today.”
Sloane peeked around her into the shop’s window. “Do you happen to know where Charles Huxham is?”
“Well, he’s not here. He never comes to my shop.” She glanced at her watch. “One thirty. I’m sure he’s at work. At least he was when I cleaned up the conference room.”
“I checked. His car is in his parking spot, but the front door’s locked, and he’s not answering his phone.”
“Then he’s hiding and doesn’t want to be bothered. Trust me. Unless Harold was in the office, it was almost impossible to get a hold of Charlie. Almost. I have my ways. I suppose you do too, don’t you? A credit card? Paperclip? Pop the lock? That sort of thing?”
Sloane chuckled. “If you see Charles, would you tell him I’m looking for him?”
“Of course. Would you like a bouquet? No charge.”
“That’s nice of you. But no thanks. Flowers really aren’t my thing.” Sloane walked back to the law office and pounded on the front door.
No answer.
She searched the building’s front for security cameras. One was installed on the corner but pointed at the other side of the street and not at their front door. She walked down the side of the building. One more camera on the back corner of the building faced the parking lot. The back door had a blind spot.
Charles’s car was still in its spot. No one was in the lot, so she sneaked to the back door. It was unlocked, and she slipped inside the storeroom. Boxes were opened and dumped all over the floor. She crept toward Charles’s office. The door between the two rooms was also unlocked. Sloane pressed her back against the wall and dropped to the floor. Did Gannon and his men come early?
Elvina. I’m at Charles Huxham’s office. Am I in any danger?
No, dear. Why?
Looks like he had a break-in.
Do be careful.
Yeah. No worries.
Sloane slid up the wall and eased the door open. Charles’s office phone rang, and she froze, holding her breath. The answering machine picked up, and a woman’s voice spoke. “Charlie, dear. Answer your phone—” It was Lore Reed leaving a message. “—Sloane needs to speak with you, and you’re avoiding her. It’s time to finish your business with the Wests. So stop hiding. Charlie?” There was a pause. “Fine. But you either call her back, or I’m coming over, and I’ll use my keys.”
If Charles was there, he wasn’t making any noise. The building was silent, not even the sound of rats scurrying in the walls. Sloane slipped into Charles’s office. His desk and file drawers, even the locked ones, had been ransacked. She stared at the mess for a minute, then dug plastic gloves out of her tote.
If it was Gannon’s crew, what else were they looking for? They wouldn’t ransack desk drawers for a painting. And where was Charles? Did they take him?
Chairs and stacks of papers were tossed on the floor. Sloane moved around the mess carefully but tripped in front of Charles’s desk, landing hard on the Persian rug. She noticed the red on her gloves first before the leg that made her fall.
“Oh, shit.”
Charles Huxham’s body lay next to her. The cloisonne letter opener protruded from his back. Death had already clouded his eyes, and the bloodstain on his shirt had started to coagulate. There was no need to check for a pulse. He had been dead for several hours.
Sloane took off the bloody gloves, stuffed them in a plastic bag, and dropped them in her tote. Then she sat back and stared at Charles’s lifeless face. “Damnit. I warned you.” She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears welling. Swallowed the lump in her throat and laid her hand on his stiff leg.
“Onwreon.”
An image of him appeared in her third eye. He was sitting at his desk in tears as he paged through a file. Then he looked past his desk and jumped to his feet, running around it, wielding the manila folder in his hand. The image pressed on her chest with an oppressive heaviness as if a black void was replacing life’s color.
She pulled back her hand and retrieved her phone.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
“My name is Sloane West. I need to report a stabbing at 414 Main Street in Denwick. The victim is deceased. I can’t stay on the line. But I’ll wait outside for the police to arrive.” She ended the call, got to her feet and removed her shoes. She had bought herself at least five minutes.
She crossed the lobby to Harold’s office and found his door unlocked. She put on another pair of plastic gloves and nudged it open. A black overcoat and hat hung on a coat rack in the corner of Harold’s office. It made her remember Harold sitting across from her, his dark blue coat folded on the back of Jane’s chair and his gray trilby on top of his briefcase.
Her anger swelled.
The killer had also rummaged through Harold’s desk and cabinets. Files were strewn across the floor. Chairs were knocked over. The safe was hidden in a faux wooden cabinet inside the wall behind Harold’s desk. Whoever killed Charles had left its doors open. The vault was unlocked and empty, and the Degas was gone. She slammed the safe shut. If Gannon wanted the Degas, why kill Charles? Why not just take it? And why ransack the offices? What would Harold and Charles have that Gannon would want besides the art? Did they keep a dossier on him? Leverage for Charles?
Sloane searched the cabinet drawers, running her hands along them for a hidden compartment, and along the rim of each drawer in Harold’s desk until she found a bump. Click. A drawer dropped open. She yanked it out and dropped it on the desk. There was one file labeled 414 Old Main. She opened it and read. “Jesus, he’d cosigned the loan.” The file held a personal contract between Harold and Charles.
There was also a photo, face down. The writing on the back gave a date and a single comment: May 18, 1969, I’ll never forget our night together. I will always love you. It was a picture of Harold, about the same age as he was in the Four Musketeers photo. He was embracing a beautiful woman. They gazed at each other as if they were moments away from a passionate kiss.
At the sound of blaring sirens, Sloane shoved the photo into her tote, bagged her gloves, and made it outside as the two officers in an RCMP vehicle pulled to a stop between the Huxham building and The Grind. An unmarked car pulled behind them, and a plainclothes officer alighted. Her stomach lurched. The officer had an athletic build and short dark hair. She reminded Sloane of Jess.
The plainclothes sent the two uniforms to the back of the building and approached Sloane. “Hello, I’m Lieutenant Veena Sharma with the Major Crime Unit.” She spoke with unusual confidence for her age, which Sloane supposed was close to hers.
“I’m Sloane West.”
The lieutenant removed her sunglasses and squinted brown-black eyes with long dark lashes, adjusting to the glare from the overcast sky. “You called in a stabbing?”
“Yeah. Inside. In the office.”
The two officers returned to the front of the building. “All clear, Lieutenant.”
“Seal off a perimeter,” Lieutenant Sharma said to the officers. “When Ident gets here, bring them inside.” She turned back to Sloane. “I’ll need you to stay here to answer a few questions if that’s okay, ma’am.”
“Ma’am? Call me Sloane.” Sloane gave the lieutenant a business card. “I’m a private investigator from New York. Here on a case.”
“Call me Veena.” She read her card. “New York, huh, Sloane? You’re a long way from home.”
“You have no idea.” Sloane turned and walked toward the front door. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take you to the victim. I’ve got some information you might find useful.”
Veena looked up and down Old Main and at the alleyway. “Yeah, sure. Then I’ll need you to wait outside.”
Sloane held the door open, and they slipped inside. “The body is that of Charles Huxham. I’m in Denwick on professional and personal business with the Huxhams,” Sloane said, stopping outside Charles’s office. “Harold Huxham, Charles’s uncle and senior partner in the law firm, was murdered in my New York apartment seventeen days ago. The hitman also tried to kill me. I know the shooter’s employer is from Denwick. I came to find him. I was convinced the victim was the perp.” She pushed open the door and pointed at Charles’s body.
Veena crouched next to him, using a pen to lift the lapels of his jacket. She looked up at Sloane. “Why would he order a hit on his uncle and you?”
“Greed or fear for his own life. I figured Charles wanted Harold and me dead for money. He was in debt to his bookie, Gannon Ferris.”
Veena seemed to recognize the last name.
“My last appointment with Charles, I overheard a phone conversation between them. Gannon thought Charles was settling his gambling debt with a piece of art—my art, an original Degas. That’s my personal business with the Huxhams. Harold Huxham was my grandparents’ estate lawyer.”
“So you were here today on business?”
“Yeah. I came to take my painting home. I was worried about Gannon stealing it. A couple days ago, I went to Chinatown. I met Gannon Ferris and told him the painting was mine. And that I was here to prove he hired the hit on Harold and me. I wanted to get under his skin, and it worked. He had one of his men jump me in Dragon Alley, but that didn’t go so well for his guy. The next day, he called Charles and threatened to kill us if Charles didn’t take care of me.”
Veena walked around the office. “Are you working with the NYPD?”
“Detective Jacobson of the 78th Precinct knows I’m here. He sanctioned my investigation while Homicide pursues another line of inquiry.”
Veena got to her feet and motioned to the three forensic identification specialists who had just arrived. “The entire building is a crime scene. Check the offices, second-floor rooms, and access doors.” She looked at Sloane. “Have you touched anything?”
“Well, yeah. I tripped over his leg.” She looked at her jeans. “That’s how the blood got on me. He’d been dead a few hours. I called 911 and waited outside. I was careful not to contaminate anything else.” She would let them discover Harold’s office, the ransacked file drawers, the safe open, and her painting gone.
“Okay, let’s step back outside,” Veena said.
Sloane stared at Charles’s body. The ornamental letter opener. Gannon made perfect sense for the murder.
Veena led them through the lobby and opened the door. They stood under a Garry oak. Sloane knew what the lieutenant ought to say next. It would shed light on how married she was to police procedure.
“Why didn’t you contact the RCMP when you arrived in Denwick or when you found out about Gannon?”
Married, she thought. “You’re right. I did ask Charles Huxham to contact the police, though. I warned him not to mess with someone like Gannon Ferris.” She sighed. “I should have called for him.”
Veena opened a notebook and jotted down information. “You said Charles was your prime suspect? Who are the others?”
“Sloane!” The shrill voice came from the pedestrian pathway. Lore Reed was running toward her. She grabbed Sloane’s arm. “What’s going on?” Her voice quavered, and she stared at the blood on Sloane’s jeans. “Where’s Charlie? Is he inside?”
“Lore, there’s been an incident.”
“With Charlie? Is he okay? Let me see him.” She pushed Sloane aside and ran toward the front door. Veena outpaced Lore and caught her by the waist. She tried to shove her away, but she held her. “Let me go,” Lore cried. “Charlie? I’m here! Charlie!”
Veena spoke to her quietly, and Lore collapsed against her chest, sobbing.
Not a moment later, Ken Keane rushed past Sloane and gathered Lore into his arms, walking her away from the building. “Is it Charlie?” he asked Sloane, his eyes full of worry. “Is he…?”
Sloane nodded.
“Oh, good Lord.” He held Lore close as she let out a mournful wail. “I’ll take her to her father’s place.”
Veena had disappeared inside, so Sloane headed to the parking lot. Halfway there, a firm hand squeezed her shoulder, and she turned with her fists up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Veena took her hand and opened it, her touch warm and gentle. She placed a business card against Sloane’s palm. “Take it. I’ll question Gannon Ferris tonight and tell you what I find out. Call me if you need anything.” She turned and rushed back inside.
Sloane read the lieutenant’s card and smiled. Definitely not married. But indecisive. Another similarity to Jess. No matter. She needed someone on the inside of Major Crimes and Lieutenant Veena Sharma would work just fine.