Everyone groaned.
“All media calls go to me,” stated Jeff, looking at Melissa. “No one needs to know which agents are working the case or how it’s proceeding.”
Melissa nodded. “My phone is going to ring nonstop. Since the day it occurred, everyone has speculated on what happened to the other four thieves.”
“I suspect the body in the woods will turn out to be one of them. With Gamble in prison, that leaves three more to find,” Eddie stated.
“And money. A lot of money to find,” added Mercy.
“Two million doesn’t go very far when divided between three or four people,” argued Eddie. “It’s got to be long gone. It’s been nearly thirty years.”
“Maybe only one of them ended up with the money, and there could be more bodies,” suggested Mercy. “I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m waiting on final confirmation that these are some of the missing bags from the robbery, and if so, I plan to interview Shane Gamble first thing tomorrow morning.”
“The Two Rivers Correctional Institution is over two hundred miles away,” said Jeff.
“I figure it’ll take me three and a half hours—maybe less.”
“No speeding tickets on company vehicles.”
“Of course not.”
“Eddie will be working with you,” said Jeff. “Divide up the load and stay away from the media. We’ll keep Deschutes County in the loop about the body since it’s their jurisdiction. Have you been in touch with the original lead FBI agent on the robbery case?”
“Art Juergen,” answered Mercy. “He retired last year, and they’re getting me his current contact information. He’s a good guy. I worked with him for a few years. A lot of agents worked the case thirty years ago, but Portland’s ASAC says Juergen knew it inside and out. He’d told the ASAC that he regretted not solving it before he retired.”
“And one year later we have a hot lead,” said Eddie. “This could make Juergen’s day. I’ll dig up background on the guys Gamble named as his associates.” Eddie looked at a piece of paper Mercy had shoved across the table. “Ellis Mull, Nathan May, and Trevor Whipple.”
“What’s the name of the fifth person?” asked Darby.
“No one knows the full name of the getaway driver,” said Melissa. “I remember angry wives and girlfriends would turn in their significant other to get the men investigated and humiliated. What a waste of investigator time.”
“Melissa is right,” said Mercy. “From what I’ve read, no one knows who the fifth person is. Shane Gamble claimed Trevor Whipple brought the fifth man into the plan at the last minute to drive the car, and called him Jerry. Gamble didn’t know anything else about him.”
“Hopefully that’s not Jerry up in the cabin,” said Eddie. “I think we can determine if it’s Mull, May, or Whipple, but figuring out if it was the unknown driver will be a challenge.”
“The body could be a random hunter,” Darby pointed out. “Let’s get that final confirmation on the bank bags before we jump to conclusions.”
Mercy met Eddie’s gaze. Her gut told her the dead body was part of the Gamble-Helmet Heist, and based on the smug smile on Eddie’s face, he suspected it too.
Not again.
This was the fourth car in two weeks.
Sandy Foster tuned out the words of the furious man with her behind the Eagle’s Nest bed-and-breakfast. She didn’t blame him as they stared at the glass on the pavement. She’d be pissed too if someone had broken her car window. From the way he spoke, he seemed to believe that the two-year-old Honda was a rare, valuable car.
It was a nice car, but she saw a dozen of them every day.
“I’ll get the police over here,” she promised her customer. “And I know the owner of the auto glass repair shop in Bend. He’ll have someone here this afternoon.” I hope.
Her relationship with the auto glass shop owner had formed out of necessity, and she wondered if he had a “break ten, get one free” program. Her lips twisted at the thought.
“This isn’t funny,” the customer snapped.
“I’m not laughing,” she assured him. “Believe me, this makes me furious. I want a safe place for my visitors to park. Incidents like this don’t make anyone feel safe.”
“At least nothing was stolen,” he muttered. He crossed his arms, and his mouth sagged in a frown.
“Let me buy you dinner at the town diner tonight,” Sandy offered. Her breakfast buffet was included in the price of a room; otherwise she would have offered that. Instead the cost of his and his wife’s dinner would come directly out of her cash.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he admitted.
It was the nicest thing he’d said in the last five minutes. “I want to do something to make it up to you. Were you driving anywhere this afternoon?”
He sighed. “Just to dinner in Bend a bit later.”
“I bet it will be repaired by then,” she said, forcing herself to sound cheerful.
“I hope so. We’ve been looking forward to trying the seafood place in the Old Mill District.” He gave her a sideways look.
Shit. “They have fantastic food. I’ll pick up the dinner tab for you.”
He brightened. “That’d be great. I’ll go tell my wife.” He took off toward the back door of her bed-and-breakfast.
Sandy sighed and closed her eyes for a long moment. The seafood restaurant would cost five times as much as a meal at the diner. If her customer decided to push the boundaries and order lobster and multiple bottles of wine, it could be much more.
I wouldn’t put it past him.
She slid her phone out of her back pocket to call the Eagle’s Nest Police Department and her auto glass contact. Regret jabbed her in the chest. She adored her bed-and-breakfast. It was the result of years of backbreaking labor. She wanted the best experience for her customers and paid attention to every detail. Fine linens on the beds, updated huge bathrooms, spotlessly clean floors, and a breakfast buffet that made clients rave. She never took a day off; the old restored home was the pride of her heart.
I love what I do, but if this damage keeps up, I’ll be broke.
Then what?
“This is happening too often,” Truman said as he wrote in his notebook. As soon as the department had received a call from Sandy, he knew what she would report.
More vandalism to customer vehicles at her bed-and-breakfast.
Beside him Sandy ran a hand through her long red hair in frustration. “Tell me about it. This isn’t good for business. I can read the future online reviews now: ‘Great place, amazing food, but expect to get your tires slashed or car windows broken.’”
“People wouldn’t write that in a review,” said Truman. “This has nothing to do with the quality of your business.”
“You’d be surprised what people will complain about. I’ve received a one-star review because I don’t provide shuttle service from Portland—give me a break! It’s over three hours away. In another one-star, a woman complained because her husband lost his coat while skiing! It didn’t even happen at my place.”
“A rational person reading that review will see how ridiculous that is.”
“Some people only look at the number of stars.” Sandy glared at the broken window.
“How about installing cameras? You could find some inexpensive ones these days.”
“How about you catch who is doing this?” Sandy suggested with a quirk of an eyebrow. The tall B&B owner was a force to be reckoned with. The fortysomething woman took no crap from anyone, but she was a natural in the hospitality field. She’d moved to town a decade before him, and he’d heard she’d been married at some point, but her passion was running her business. Truman still appreciated the time she’d backed him up in a domestic dispute with her rolling pin. He’d had no doubt she would use it if needed.