Gnosis (36 page)

More than halfway through the stack, having uncovered nothing of interest, Dantzler turned the page and picked up the next obit notice.

And there it was, plain as day, exactly like Eli said.

Holy shit
, Dantzler muttered out loud, his heart pounding like a timpani drum.
Holy shit
, he repeated.

He looked away, then back down at the newspaper clipping, blinking several times to make sure that what he was looking at was no sleep-deprived vision. It wasn’t; this was the real thing. Hands trembling, suddenly wide awake, adrenaline pumping, he picked up the single piece of paper.

And began reading.            

RICHARDS

Mary Magdalene Richards, 54, loving wife of Johnny Richards, departed this life on April 7, 2010, after a brief illness. Known to everyone as Maggie, she had a strong devotion to family, a great appreciation of the arts and a love of Nature’s beauty. Maggie was born on June 18, 1955, in New York City, where she met and fell in love with her husband, whom she married in 1976. She worked in the HR Department at the VA Hospital for many years, eventually retiring in 2005. Maggie is survived by her husband; two sisters, Annabella Donetti of New York City and Gabriella Terranova of Atlantic City, N.J.; six nieces and three nephews. Funeral services will be held at Kerr Brothers Funeral Home in Lexington on April 9 beginning at 10 a.m. Burial will be in the Lexington Cemetery. Donations on behalf of Maggie Richards may be made to the Markey Cancer Center.

Dantzler had been right. Eli’s whispered dictate held the key that unlocked the mystery.

Think of Jesus’s empty tomb
.

Mary Magdalene
.

The only woman mentioned in all four Gospel accounts of the women discovering the empty tomb, and the first woman to see the resurrected Jesus.

Eli had given the perfect clue
. Mary Magdalene
. And now, Dantzler had finally uncovered it.

The pieces fell into place, the jigsaw puzzle solved.

Mary Magdalene Richards.

Johnny Richards.

The shooter.

*****

Three-thirty in the morning and too wired to sleep.

Dantzler paced, plotting strategy, putting together his next move, mentally constructing his plan of attack. He was buzzed, alive with excitement, anxious for daylight to break. Anxious to go for the jugular.

To put away a four-time killer.

To free Eli Whitehouse.

During crucial times like this, Dantzler often approached matters from a tennis player’s perspective rather than from a detective’s point of view. He saw the case through a tennis player’s mental lens. In so doing, his understanding of what it took to win was elevated to the highest level, just as it was when he squared off against a talented foe.
Crunch time is my time
. That had always been his mantra. When the match was on the line and the outcome still in doubt was when he played his finest tennis. It all came down to will; the player with the strongest will usually emerged victorious. And Dantzler always felt his will was stronger than that of any opponent. The instinct for dominating a foe was as much a part of him as the blood flowing through his veins.

He detested losing. It wasn’t an option.

As with countless tennis matches throughout his life, he now faced one of those pivotal moments where the outcome would likely be decided by how he played his next shot. Everything was riding on his next move, his next piece of strategy. He hadn’t arrived at match point—he hadn’t come that far just yet—but his next barrage of shots, if executed perfectly, could decide the outcome in his favor.

The trick now was to make no mistakes. Every shot, every move, had to be executed to perfection.

This wasn’t pop-the-cork-and-spray-the-champagne-time, but it was close. While there was still much to be accomplished before the flag of victory could be flown, he now held the upper hand. This much he was certain of: he had the slight edge necessary for putting away a worthy opponent. For the first time, he felt in control of the match.

Dantzler smiled. 

Victory was now within his reach.

*****

By six-fifteen Dantzler had showered, dressed, downed a bowl of cereal, and made phone calls to Laurie, Milt, and Eric, ordering them to be in the War Room no later than seven-thirty. He offered no specifics other than to let them know there had been a major break in the Eli Whitehouse case. This bit of news was tantalizing enough to rouse the sleepy detectives to life.

Dantzler stood on his deck and watched the sun begin its upward ascent, a bright orange globe carrying with it the promise of a glorious day. A mist hovered over the lake like an ethereal guardian angel. Crickets and loons and frogs sang in unison. The air was still and cool.

For any Homicide detective, answers are always accompanied by questions. In some ways, finding the answer only serves to heighten the riddle. Dantzler now had his answer—Johnny Richards. But exactly
who
was Johnny Richards? Why did he kill those two boys in 1982? What was his connection to Eli Whitehouse? How did he get the murder weapon out of Eli’s safe? What was the leverage he wielded that was powerful enough to convince Eli to willingly accept a lifetime prison sentence?

Those questions came at Dantzler faster than a blistering 130-mile-an-hour serve. The answers, he knew, wouldn’t come so fast. They seldom did. But it didn’t matter to him now. Eventually the answers would be known by him, by Eli, by everyone.

The light of truth always prevails
.

“Man, I can’t believe I missed something so important,” Eric said, shaking his head. “It was right in front of me the entire time and I blew it.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Eric,” Dantzler answered. “Remember, I’m the one who said we should concentrate solely on males. Also, the file was on my desk for a full week before I decided to take a look. If anyone is at fault, it’s me.”

Dantzler and Eric were sitting across from each other at the War Room table. Milt was at the head of the table, and Captain Bird was standing by the coffee pot. Still a few minutes before nine, yet all four had been at the office for almost two hours. The energy in the room was electric.

“I gotta tell you, Ace,” Milt said, pointing at his copy of the obit notice. “I never detected anything hinky or suspicious about Richards when we met with him. From where I was sitting, he came across as sincere and genuine. If he is our guy, he’s one cool and confident dude.”

“He’s a pro, Milt,” Dantzler said. “Guys like him don’t rattle. He knew exactly how to play us, and he did it with the ease of a smooth, polished actor. I doubt Sean Penn or Russell Crowe could have been more convincing.”

“And you’re sure he’s our guy?” Milt said.

“One-hundred percent.”

Bird stepped forward and moved to the table. “Look, Jack, I’m not arguing with you on this, but let me play devil’s advocate for a few seconds.” He turned a chair around and sat, locking his arms around the back. “There are a lot of questions to be answered before you can nail Richards. First among them—how did he manage to get Eli’s pistol out of the safe? If you can’t answer that one, your entire case against Richards turns to shit.”

“I don’t know how he did it, Rich; I only know he did. Just like I don’t know why he killed those two kids in ’eighty-two, but he did. I also don’t know what he has on Eli that would persuade the old man to spend his life in prison, but he has something. You don’t have to play devil’s advocate, Rich. I know there are plenty of unanswered questions. It’s up to us to answer them.

“But it’s all there,” Dantzler continued. “Richards was living in Lexington at the time of the first killings. The Colt Rogers connection. The wife named Mary Magdalene. Everything fits.”

“It’s not
all
there, Jack,” Bird countered. “To get the gun, Richards had to know the combination to the safe. If he didn’t have the combination, it means someone from inside the Whitehouse family was helping him. That opens a whole new can of worms. And the fingerprints—you seem to be overlooking the fact they were Eli’s. If Richards was the shooter, why were Eli’s prints get on the gun? What about Devon Fraley? How does she fit into all this? Why would Richards kill her? It’s one thing for you to keep saying you
know
these things, Jack, but you’re a long way from proving any of it.”

“Damn, Rich, you’ve become more cynical than Milt?”

“Hey, leave me out of this,” Milt said, laughing.

“I’m not cynical, Jack,” Bird said, walking to the door. “I’m just not as quick to hop on board as you seem to be.”

After Bird left the War Room, Eric stood, and said, “He’s right, you know. We have a boat load of questions we have to find answers for before we can go after Richards. And right now, we have next to nothing. Let’s hope Laurie’s research comes up with some interesting finds. If she doesn’t, we’re screwed.”

“What data bases is she checking?” Milt asked.

“All of them,” Dantzler said. “She told me she should be done by noon. Let’s meet here again at one-thirty.”

“See you then,” Eric and Milt said in unison.

*****

Back at his desk, Dantzler phoned the state capital in Frankfort, identified himself to the operator, and asked to speak with Kirk Foster. He was immediately put through to Kirk’s office.

“If you are calling to set up another tennis match you’re wasting your time,” Kirk said, laughing. “I learned my lesson the first time around. I’m no glutton for punishment.”

“Relax,” Dantzler said. “I’m not looking for a rematch.”

“Then what can I do for you, Detective Dantzler?” Kirk asked.

“I need to ask a few questions regarding Eli’s finances.”

“What makes you think I know about Eli’s finances?”

“When I met with Eli, he told me you are in charge of his business affairs.”

Kirk was silent.

“Eli also made it clear that none of his children are aware of this,” Dantzler continued. “That doesn’t have to change. There is no reason for them to know we talked.”

“What is it you want to know, exactly?”

“How will Eli’s estate be divided after he’s gone?”

“Evenly. Each sibling gets one-third of everything. Straight down the line.”

“What do you estimate his net worth to be?”

“Including everything—land, physical properties, stocks—it’s close to ten million.”

“I assume you are executor of the estate.”

“Yes, I am.” Kirk said. “But all decisions regarding the sale of land and/or properties, or the disbursement of money, will be made by the three children. It is Eli’s wish, and this is clearly stated in his will, that all decisions are to be based on a majority rules basis. In the unlikely event a clear decision cannot be reached, I have the authority to cast the deciding vote.”