Evelyn David - Sullivan Investigations 02 - Murder Takes the Cake (14 page)

“
New, old, big, small?”

“
Maybe size 13 for one, size 9 for the other. The bigger ones were black and looked new. The smaller-sized ones were badly scuffed and white.”

“
Which tells us?” Mac wasn’t sure what it told him, except that this wasn’t some gang-related break-in. The shoes weren’t expensive enough. But he hadn’t thought there had been a big ring of coffin thieves among the D.C. gangs anyway.

JJ pushed back her chair, stood up, and stretched.
“That there were two incompetent burglars trying to steal a coffin at O’Herlihy’s Funeral Home last night.”

“
Yeah.”

Mac reached into his coat pocket and took out the photo of Scott Merrell. He pushed it across JJ
‘s desk.

“
Do you recognize this guy?”

JJ studied the photo for a few moments.
“It’s the guy in the barn. The one Edgar and I met at the Crager farm. The guy who slashed my tires and ran away.”

“
You’re absolutely sure.”

“
Look at the scar on the cheek.” JJ pointed to a jagged mark on the left side of Merrell’s face. “I remember seeing it and how angry it looked, and there was a tattoo on his neck which you can just see the top of in this photo.” She moved her hand to the dark smudge that was clear above the dress shirt and tie the man in the picture wore. “That’s the guy in the barn. Who is he? Are those his kids and wife?”

“
That’s Scott Merrell and his family. He’s an ex-cop from Boston who threatened Bridget.”

“
And ended up shoveling turkey shit on a farm in Virginia where a guy was murdered in his bed. What’s the connection?” JJ slumped back down in her chair.

“
I don’t know yet. But I think we may need to revisit that farm. Bridget saw a computer in Crager’s living room, but it was password protected.”

“
No problem.” JJ pulled open the bottom drawer of the desk and took out her backpack.

“
Where do you think you’re going?”

“
You just said we needed to revisit the farm.”

She shrugged on a black leather jacket, and pulled a black knit cap over her head.
“Let’s go.”

Mac blushed and started stammering.
“I meant…I promised…I.…”

Why did he feel like he was back in high school stumbling through why he couldn
‘t take Theresa Saunders to the prom because he was already going with Mary Margaret Morrison?

“
What? Spit it out, Mac.”

He was an adult. He could handle this.
“I promised Rachel she could go with me to the farm.”

“
And that means I can’t go?”

He could feel flop sweat on his brow.

JJ grinned. “Tell you what, I’ll drive. You and Ms. Brenner can neck in the backseat. Have you gotten to second base yet?”

“
Watch your mouth.” Instantly, he morphed from teenager in heat to indignant father.

“
Okay, okay. But, listen, you want me with you. You’re in the Triassic age when it comes to computers, and Ms. Brenner is barely in the Cretaceous era.”

Mac considered what JJ just said. He had no clue what it meant, but was pretty sure she was telling him that he didn
‘t know diddly-squat about computers and Rachel was only marginally better. She was right.

He nodded, then pulled out his cell phone
.

***

“Can I help you?” On her way to let Jeff know she was finally back at work, Rachel noticed the older man in the expensive three-piece suit standing in the reception area.

“
I just dropped in to see Mr. O’Herlihy.” He gestured towards Myrna Bird’s desk. The lady who sits there is announcing me. “Are you Rachel Brenner?”

Rachel nodded.
“Yes, and you’re …”

“
Fletcher Dalton.” He held out his hand. “I’ve heard many good things about your work. In fact you were one of the reasons I was so interested in buying Franklin’s Funeral Home. You’re very talented.”

“
I’m flattered, thank you,” Rachel said, shaking his hand. And she was a little, even though she suspected the old man was prone to glibness. Still, it was nice when strangers knew and appreciated your work.

“
Dalton’s is always looking for good people.” Pulling a business card from his vest pocket, he handed it to her. “Call my business manager. I’m sure we could offer you a very attractive salary and benefits package. Double whatever you’re making here.”

“
Stealing funerals isn’t enough for you, Dalton?” Jeff moved to stand beside Rachel.

“
Now you’re trying to poach my employees too?”

“
Stealing is a harsh word, Mr. O’Herlihy. I’m a reputable businessman whose company can offer clients and employees,” he gave Rachel a smile, “more for less. This is nothing personal. Like you, I’m in the process of growing my business and finding the best people to assist me is key. I’d love to bring both you and Mrs. Brenner into the Dalton family.”

“
Over my dead body.”

“
That’s not necessary.” Dalton chuckled. “I appreciate your sense of humor, Mr. O’Herlihy, or may I call you Jeff?”

“
You may not. As I’ve told you and your business manager a dozen times, O’Herlihy’s is not for sale. I want you to take your–”

Rachel
‘s cell phone rang. She glanced at the number. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I need to take this call. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Dalton.”

She left them arguing in the reception area as she answered Mac
‘s call.

***

One edge of the yellow crime scene tape flapped in the wind; the other was still attached to the wooden doorframe. Happy Mac had remembered to include her in the search of the farmhouse, Rachel eagerly slid the key into the lock and gave it a twist. The old door opened with a creak.

“
Is this still considered a crime scene?” JJ followed Rachel, Mac, and Whiskey into the front hall.

“
Nope.” Rachel walked into the small parlor off the entry. “The deputy said the coroner ruled Brian Crager died of natural causes. The county is short on money. No autopsy unless foul play is suspected. Mac’s suspicions didn’t count.”

Mac sighed.
“Figures. The sheriff didn’t like me much. The coroner, when he finally got here, even less.”

“
I’m sure that wasn’t the reason. Apparently Mr. Crager’s own doctor confirmed he had an enlarged heart and a bleeding ulcer. The rest of the family is small, just some cousins who live in Missouri. They had the body shipped out there. Abigail Simpson, a friend of a friend of mine, is going to handle the sale of the property for the heirs.”

There was a layer of dust on all the surfaces and a dank, dark smell to the house. Whiskey whined and shook her head, obviously unhappy with the odors.

“And we’re potential buyers?” Mac opened the drawers of the old roll top desk and started leafing through the papers.

Rachel smiled.
“No, my Aunt Ella is the potential buyer. She’s thinking of expanding the family farm. Maybe raise organic, free-range poultry.”

“
That’s cool,” JJ said. “When did your Aunt go green?”

Rachel laughed.
“The only chickens Ella likes are those already deep fried, smothered in gravy, and washed down with a double shot of Southern comfort. She’s about as inorganic as you can get and still be breathing.”

JJ crinkled her brow.
“So who’s going to run the chicken farm? You’re not leaving O’Herlihy’s are you?”

“
Not unless I get fired for stealing caskets.” Rachel laughed and moved over to the bookcases flanking the brick fireplace in the middle of the far wall. “Nobody is going to run Aunt Ella’s farm. That was an excuse to get in and look around. By the way, Mac, anybody asks, you’re a used furniture dealer looking to buy the contents of the house. And JJ is your assistant.”

Mac looked up briefly, then with a shrug, returned to sifting through the papers.

Rachel started at the top of one of the bookcases on the right of the mantle, pulling out each book to check behind. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but if it was good enough for all those CSI folks, she figured it couldn’t hurt. Maybe there would be a treasure map in one of the books or a hidden lever leading to a secret staircase. She shook her head to clear thoughts of Nancy Drew adventures from her brain.

JJ sat down on the wooden chair in front of a table holding a clunky desktop computer. She started up the machine and flipped through the disks strewn across the scratched cherry surface.
“This PC is probably seven, eight years old. A real dinosaur, but easy to hack.”

“
Hack away,” Mac muttered.

The trio had worked for several minutes in silence, when Mac slammed shut the desk drawers with a
“nothing’s here,” and announced he was going upstairs to the dead man’s bedroom.

“
This thing is slower than a Washington taxi going up Massachusetts Avenue in a snowstorm.” JJ drummed her fingers impatiently on the table waiting for the settings to load. “Finally. Okay, now for a password. What did you say the guy’s name was?”

When she got no response, JJ repeated the question.
“Hey, what did you say the dead guy’s name was?”

Rachel looked up from the small, faded photograph she held. It had been stuck between an old Random House dictionary and two old Time magazines. The photo showed three men, two in uniform, and one in civilian clothes, posed with their arms slung around each other shoulders, in front of an army tank. She glanced at the covers of the magazines. The first was dated August 13, 1990, and featured Saddam Hussein, with the declaration,
‘Iraq on the March.’ The second magazine was a week later, August 20, and this time it was President George Bush, the first one, with the tag line, ‘Can Bush Make Saddam Blink?’ Rachel looked at the photo again.

“
Think this was taken in Kuwait?” Rachel offered the picture to JJ, who scanned it quickly.

“
Looks like a lot of sand to me. Sure, that could be a desert.” She looked at the picture again. “Hey, isn’t that.…”

“
I wondered if you thought it was too.” Rachel took the picture back.

“
That’s the guy I met in the barn. He’s the one in the picture Mac showed me this morning.”

“
Scott Merrell,” Rachel said firmly. She turned on a table lamp to study the picture more closely.

“
Who are the other guys in the picture?”

“
That’s Brian Crager.” Rachel pointed to the man in the middle of the group. “He must have been in the Reserves, probably was called up for the first Gulf War. I’ll ask Aunt Ella. She’d know.”

“
And the other guy?” JJ pointed to the man in civilian clothes, but wearing an army helmet.

“
I’ve got no clue.” Rachel tucked the photo into her purse. “How are you doing with the computer?”

“
I’m trying to figure out the guy’s password. How do you spell the last name? A or E?”

“
C-R-A-G-E-R.”

JJ typed in the letters, but the screen immediately read, login invalid.

“How about B, Crager or Brian Crager or.…” Rachel searched the table and saw an old framed invitation. It was to the wedding of Brian Crager and Susan Cole, May 4, 1965. “Try Susan65.”

JJ
‘s fingers flew across the keyboard. “I’m in. Looks like he’s got a Yahoo account and if we have any luck, he’s signed in for a few weeks so I won’t need a password to access his mail.”

Rachel stood behind the chair and watched as JJ scrolled down the inbox. Skimming past lots of unopened posts for penis enlargement drugs and Viagra pills, she spotted an email from [email protected].

“Open that one.” Rachel pointed to an entry dated a week before Crager’s death. The faded color of the line indicated it had been opened previously.

“
String’s dead. Watch your back. Ali Baba may be close. Keep in touch. S”

“
String? And who’s Ali Baba?” JJ looked up at Rachel.

“
Got no clue. Something to do with the old Arabian Nights tale?”

“
Like Aladdin, the Disney movie with Robin Williams?”

Rachel shrugged.
“Maybe. Let’s look at the outbox, see what Crager sent to him.”

JJ clicked the sent icon and a long list of emails appeared. Most addresses were to other Cragers. Rachel assumed they were family members, maybe the ones in
Missouri. About three-quarters down the page were two emails addressed to Scott Merrell. The messages were several weeks old, posted two days apart. JJ quickly clicked on the earliest one.