Corpus de Crossword (26 page)

Belle hung up the phone and turned back to Rosco. Her eyes sparkled with feverish thought. Rosco could almost see theories, hypotheses, and deductions pinwheeling around in her brain. “Well, there you have it!”

“I take it from your gloating tone that you think you've discovered our murder victim.”

“Could anything be more obvious?”

“Well, yes, as a matter of fact …”

“Rosco! Come on … This is as plain as the nose on your face. Gordon had Wife Number One killed. Can't you see that? Along with the larcenous business partner—”

“You don't know they're dead.”

“Not for
certain
… You're right …”

“So?”

“Okay … okay …” Belle's face crinkled in concentration. “But I know I'm right, Rosco. I
feel
it … Wait! Wait, I have it! It was Petri. Everything points to it. He was the hired assassin—”

“Presuming Wife Number One is—”

“Stop, Rosco. Let me finish. Petri bumps off both the lady and her paramour … plunks the bodies into the trunk of his car, and drives them out into the wilds—”

“That would be Taneysville—?”

Belle gave him an aggravated look. “Then he secretly buries the evidence of his crime, and hightails it back to Boston.”

“Your theory has a major flaw. Two, in fact.”

“What's that?”

“Gordon didn't own the property fifteen years ago—meaning the discovery of his ex-wife's remains beside his future weekend home would be an extraordinary coincidence. And two: Where's the partner's body?”

Belle's mouth opened and shut and opened again. “I'm thinking … I'm thinking.”

Rosco's expression also grew serious. He scratched his chin, then rubbed at his forehead. “You know, during my initial interview with Gordon, I asked him why he'd chosen Taneysville for a weekend retreat. His response seemed fairly prerehearsed and glib, i.e.: It didn't have a ring of truth about it …” Rosco shook his head. “However, your theory discounts the fact that the Quigleys were then occupying—”

“But they were old, maybe hard of hearing—whatever. Meaning that Petri could sneak in during the dark of night, and do the dirty deed—”

“And keep Gordon in the dark as to the location he'd chosen?”

“He'd have to, Rosco—if he wanted to save his hide … Maybe … maybe Petri was blackmailing his former boss, threatening to tell all, et cetera … Finally, Gordon learns the truth—”

“How?”

“I don't know how, but he does … then he races out to Taneysville and buys the land—”

“Only to have his construction crew unearth his wife's remains …? I don't know, Belle. This concept of yours is sounding sketchier and sketchier.”

But Belle was on a roll. “Not if Petri never disclosed the precise placement of the burial sites … meaning that your Greek backhoe operator accidentally digs up the lady's skeleton—putting Petri in
bigger
trouble, and forcing Gordon to kill him to keep him quiet … Remember how close in time those two events were? The discovery of the body and Petri's death?”

Rosco was silent for a long minute. “I have to admit your notion is plausible—albeit far-fetched.”

Belle folded her arms across her chest. “You're just jealous.”

“What?”

“You're jealous you didn't dream up this scenario first.”

“Well, for one thing, investigative work doesn't entail
dreaming up
scenarios—”

“You always tell me you play your hunches, don't you?”

“Right …”

“Well, this is
my
hunch. And failing uncovering a better one at the moment, I vote we try it. I say we smoke Gordon out.”

“What's this
we
bit?”

“Subcontractor to the Polycrates Agency.”

“Right … I keep forgetting … my stalwart employee …” Rosco picked up the phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“I thought that was your suggestion—that I have another conversation with
Alexei Peshkov.”

Belle drew in a quick, nervous breath while Rosco chatted with Far Yukon's executive secretary, then hung up the phone. “It seems the new homeowner has a meeting at the work site … Apparently, he's on his way there now.” Rosco headed toward the closet and pulled out his jacket while Belle reached for her purse.

“Ah-ah, where are you going?” Rosco said as he held up his hands. “I'm drawing the line on the
we
part. This guy has the potential for being very dangerous.”

She stood silently for a few moments, then said, “So, you'll need to take my car.” She brandished her keys, then lowered them as her shoulders simultaneously sank into a worried slouch. “Be careful, Rosco. If I'm right, this guy's more than dangerous … He's a killer.”

“Killer? You think I don't know that? If you're right, he's the guy who killed my Jeep.”

“I'm talking about
people,
Rosco.”

“So am I … sort of.” Then he stopped and looked at her. “Promise me you'll keep the doors locked. Because if it's not Gordon … or if the goons who—”

“I promise I'll be careful.”

They exchanged a lengthy kiss.

“Take your gun,” Belle said after they pulled apart.

CHAPTER 34

“I only want to
talk
to him,” Rosco kept mumbling as he made the trip to Taneysville and the Gordon property. “Be cool, be relaxed … just chat with the guy … nice and easy … A little information gathering … A little
talk
…”

The muttered phrases were intended to have a calming effect, but the fact that Belle had been threatened, that Rosco had lost his trusted Jeep, and that he was now driving his wife's
sedan
only served as a reminder that this particular conversation was bound to be anything but easy—or normal, or relaxed.
Keep your eye on the prize,
he kept reminding himself,
there's no actual evidence that Gordon had anything to do with what happened Monday night
—
or with a body, or even multiple bodies, unearthed on his premises. Belle's theory is only conjecture
.

But the longer Rosco drove, the more plausible his wife's idea seemed. He reached for his phone, called home, and breathed a huge sigh of relief when her cheerful voice answered. “Keep the doors locked till I get home, okay? Kit'll be fine without her midday stroll … And if there's anything even remotely suspicious—” Then the connection broke off, and he found himself on the outskirts of Taneysville.

He eased Belle's sedan up the old Quigley lane. There was no sign of Gordon, only Sean Reilly's pickup truck with the contractor sitting peacefully on the opened tailgate. Rosco parked a few feet away and stepped from the car. Slowly. He took in a long and steadying breath, but his shoulders were tight with anger.
Was Sean in on all this?
he wondered.
How much does he know?

“Heya, Parker,” Sean said with a smile, “What happened to that
classy
ride you used to have?”

Rosco took a long time to answer. He studied Sean's face the entire time, looking for a crack, a little twitch or tick that might indicate how much he knew about the Jeep's destruction. “It met with an accident.”

“Not too serious, I hope,” Sean continued in an affable tone. “Those older models are starting to become real collector's items.”

“Yeah, that's what they tell me.”

“So, what brings you back here?”

“I might ask you that same thing.”

Sean let out a short groan. “Man, Parker, I hate to tell
you
this, of all people, but Mr. G's supposed to meet me here. He wants to change the plans for this addition—again.” Sean pointed to the area where the body had been found. “No more building on
this
side of the house. That's change number one. The idea's been totally scrapped—by the little missus, natch. I told ya these ladies love to bust a builder's chops … Apparently, now we're gonna have to backfill
all
the foundation area my guys already dug, and relocate to the north side. It seems it's ‘better light' for the little lady's paintings. Go figure, huh? Man, I sure wish I had that kind of dough to throw around. Though I wouldn't be wasting it in this hicksville, I'll tell you that right now … Anyway, Mr. G's gonna lay it all out for me when he gets here.” Sean looked at his watch. “He shoulda been here twenty minutes ago.”

“Don't count on any backfilling just yet. I have a feeling before anything gets filled, there's going to be a lot more digging done right here.”

“Not according to—”

Sean was interrupted by the sound of Alex Gordon's Mercedes working its way up the lane. It pulled up to the far side of Sean's pickup and stopped with a jolt. Gordon switched off the motor and stepped rapidly from the car. He wore a dark gray overcoat with the collar turned up against the cold air, and his expression looked equally steely and grim. Watching him approach, Rosco knew for certain Belle had been right. If Gordon hadn't actually killed his wife, he knew who the murderer was.

“What the hell are you doing here, Polycrates?” The question was a snarl. “This is private property.”

“Polycrates …?” Sean asked. He looked from his boss to the man he knew as Parker. He made no attempt to hide his confusion.

Gordon's glance took in Belle's sedan. “What happened to your Jeep? Meet with a mishap?”

Rosco smiled coolly. “Interesting question. How did you know I owned a Jeep?”

“I guess a little birdie told me.” Gordon turned to Sean. “Get this lowlife out of here, Reilly. This is private property and we've got work to do.”

“Polycrates?” Sean said once again. “I thought your name was Parker.”

“Parker?” Gordon growled. “You mean the stooge who's the Newcastle buildings inspector? Is that who this bum told you he was?”

“Ahhh …”

“I don't know what bill of goods you've been sold, Sean, but he's a private investigator by the name of Rosco Polycrates, and he's been hired by those rubes down the hill to shut this work site down—and I mean permanently. So get him out of here … Now!”

Sean took a step toward Rosco, who held up a placating hand. “Hold on there, Sean,” he said. “What your boss is telling you, that's basically true—except for the ‘closing down the site' part—”

Gordon moved closer. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

“There were a couple of issues we left unresolved.” Rosco looked from Gordon to Sean, the smile on his face determined and aggressive. “Sean tells me you've decided to move the addition to the north side—”

“You want to keep your job, Reilly? Get this bozo out of here.”

But Sean's large body didn't move. Rosco could see he was trying to play catch-up with the situation, although the outcome was anyone's guess at this point.
Two to one,
Rosco told himself, assessing the odds,
and one of the two a probable killer
. “You know, Alexei, when we first met, I didn't compliment you sufficiently on losing your Russian accent; it must have taken a lot of work … I guess it shouldn't surprise me that you'd have no trouble sounding like a Texan on the telephone—”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You don't think I recognized your voice? What do you take me for?”

“You're living in a dream world.”

Rosco tried a bluff. “Maybe, but the prints the police lifted off a certain phone booth matched the ones left in Petri's apartment.” He studied the reaction on Gordon's face as the Russian absorbed Petri's name. “It's only a matter of time before those prints are I.D.'d, but it's beginning to seem fairly obvious who they belong to.”

“Mr. Gordon …” Sean said, looking for a few explanations … or instructions … or anything.

“Get this creep off my property, dammit!” Gordon shouted.

In a Pavlovian reaction, Sean moved toward Rosco.

“Just a minute. Just a minute …” Rosco interjected.

Gordon glared at him. “I don't have anything to say to you, Polycrates.”

“Well, I think you're wrong about that. Because it's my opinion—as well as that of the homicide detectives who happen to be working this case—that you may know very well whose body turned up here two weeks ago.”

Gordon made another angry step toward Rosco, and Rosco turned his attention to Sean.

“Man, it's got to really gall you to have to dig a new foundation and backfill this one … and all because some dumb bimbo, some rich—”

“Leave my wife out of this, Polycrates …”

“Let's see, would that be Wife Number Three, Alexei? Or Wife Number One? The hot little lady who dumped you and then disappeared with her new stud …?”

Sean's big face swung slowly toward Gordon.

“… 'Cause this is how Homicide in both Boston and Newcastle are piecing this thing together, Alexei … and all because of a down-and-out PI named Mike Petri who happened to wind up dead; a PI who you just happened to have hired fifteen years ago—”

“Are you charging me with murder? I'm a little confused here, Polycrates. Because if you are, I think you just overlooked my rights—”

“I'm not charging you with anything. I'm just discussing a guy named Petri—who happens to have contacted me the day before his death. But then, you must know all about that from one of your little birdies … But Petri's not the real issue. I'm more concerned about one of your exes and a certain one-time business partner; both of whom
happen
to be on the missing persons list.” Rosco looked at Sean. “As the man in charge of this work site, Sean, let me ask you a question: Did ‘Mr. G' here give you specific instructions to follow if you happened to come across any ‘Indian' graves?”