“Maybe she didn’t take them seriously.”
“Then she would have thrown them away.”
Truman stared at the words if you want your son to live.
He whipped out his cell phone and called Lucas’s number.
TWENTY-FOUR
Standing in the warm late-morning sun, Mercy looked at the notes.
Inside plastic sleeves was paper that had been ripped out of a spiral notebook, the left-side edges still tattered. She met Truman’s calm gaze. He’d called her to Bree Ingram’s home to discuss Tabitha Huff’s possible link to Bree’s attack. Detective Evan Bolton had arrived a few minutes after. Both he and Truman looked as if they’d been up most of the night. Their faces were long and their eyes were tired.
Is Bree’s attack part of the Gamble-Helmet Heist case?
Truman thought so.
“Has Lucas been warned?” she asked.
“Yes. He’s at the hospital. County has a deputy at the door of Bree’s room. I told the deputy to stay close.”
“Did Lucas ask why?”
Truman looked grim. “He did. I told him we found some threats at his mother’s house that included him. He was shocked. I had to repeat several times that he’s to stick by the deputy. He wanted to drive right out here and take a look.”
“I understand why he believes that he doesn’t need protection.” The office manager was the size of a professional linebacker.
The sound of tires on gravel caught her attention. Her boss had arrived. Jeff joined their group, looking as exhausted as the first two men.
“We’re a sad-looking bunch,” Mercy commented. “Looks like none of us got much sleep last night.” She handed the threatening notes to Jeff.
“I’m not sure I follow what these have to do with the robbery,” Jeff said, blinking wearily at the handwriting.
“Shane Gamble brought in Tabitha Huff after Ellis Mull was found. Tabitha met with both Bree and Sandy to ask about their vandalism,” Truman stated. “Tabitha was murdered, and now Bree has been attacked—nearly killed.”
“Where’s Sandy?” Mercy asked.
“She’s checking the buffet at her place, and then she’ll go to the hospital to stay with Bree. She found the notes.”
“Sandy discovered these? Did she lead you right to them?” Mercy asked, the hair on the back of her neck standing up.
“Why was she allowed at the scene?” Detective Bolton asked with a hard look at Truman.
Truman raised his chin the tiniest bit. “I was with her at all times. She was getting clothing for Bree and found the notes in her room. I saw it happen.”
“I thought Ms. Ingram was still unconscious,” Jeff added. “Why did Sandy take it upon herself to get clothes for a woman who couldn’t ask for them and won’t need them for a while?”
“I get it,” Mercy replied, feeling a guilty need to back Truman. “Sandy’s a doer. She’s the type of person who can’t sit still. I can see her pacing in Bree’s hospital room, needing to do something.”
“That’s pretty much the impression I got too,” answered Truman.
Mercy didn’t miss the glance he flicked her way. He didn’t need her to speak for him.
“Shane Gamble said he gave Tabitha a message to deliver,” Mercy reminded Jeff. “Could it have been for Bree or Sandy?”
“Tabitha Huff talked to nearly every person in a ten-mile radius of town,” Jeff muttered.
“But Bree was clearly in some sort of danger.” Mercy pointed at the notes in Jeff’s hand.
“How would Gamble know Bree was in danger and want to warn her?” Truman asked. “Why would he know anything? He’s sitting in prison.”
“He contacted Tabitha after my first interview. Something I said must have been relevant—that we missed or didn’t understand—that made him want to warn someone.”
“It could have been anyone Tabitha talked to,” Detective Bolton stated as he looked at Mercy. “Heck, she talked to you.”
Jeff gave a tired sigh. “What do we know about these two women? Could they have known Gamble or some of his gang in the past?” He swayed slightly.
Suspicious, Mercy reached over and placed her hand on Jeff’s forehead. “Dammit, Jeff, it’s got you too! Your forehead is hot enough to fry an egg.” Why is he working while sick? “Go home. Rose has it and so does one of her preschoolers. I don’t want it.”
Truman and Evan both took a step out of their circle.
“You need help—” Jeff started.
“What I need is to not get the flu,” Mercy interrupted him. “Then no one will be able to work this case.”
“I can’t just—”
“Yes, you can. Now leave.” She shot a get-out-of-here glare at him. “You’re welcome to call and email me all you want. Just don’t breathe the same air as me. Or touch the same stuff.” She took the notes out of his hands, glad she still wore gloves. Truman had removed his gloves, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him surreptitiously rub his hands on his pants.
Jeff looked at her a moment longer, defeat in his eyes. “I’ll go. But tell them.”
Truman and Evan’s interest was piqued.
“I will,” she promised. I’d already planned to share our new information with them this morning.
Jeff quietly left the group, making Mercy realize he was sicker than he’d let on.
“Should he be driven home?” she asked the other men.
Both shook their heads.
Men.
“I’m holding the two of you responsible if he gets in an accident.”
Neither looked concerned.
“Okay.” Mercy looked at the notes in her hands. “There’re enough correlations here for the FBI to consider that Bree’s attack might be related to the robbery. Let’s get these notes to the lab. Have we heard anything on fingerprints from the knife he used? Who is working on whittling down red trucks in the area?”
“I have a guy on the trucks,” said Evan. “And I expect to hear from the lab about fingerprints any minute. But first I want to know what Jeff wanted you to tell us.” Truman nodded in agreement.
Mercy cleared her throat. “One of Tabitha Huff’s notes suggests that the driver at the Gamble-Helmet Heist was a woman.”
And now that I know Bree’s attack could be related to the robbery, it makes her a possible suspect.
Their surprise was palpable.
The two men exchanged a glance. “But even Gamble refers to the driver as ‘him’ or Jerry,” said Truman, his eyes skeptical.
“Maybe he had a good reason to do so.”
“He’s been protecting someone for thirty years?” Evan asked. “I can’t see it. Maybe he’d do it for a year or two, but why for so long?”
“Who knows?” said Mercy. “If he has protected her, that means she’s someone very special. All the investigating done in the past didn’t turn up a girlfriend for Shane Gamble. Trevor Whipple had a few, but all their alibis checked out.”
“You think Bree could be that woman?” Truman said faintly.
Mercy saw it was hard for him to wrap his brain around the idea that the petite mother of Lucas could have been involved in one of the biggest heists of the twentieth century.
“Now that I’ve seen this attack, I think she’s a possibility.”
“This is ridiculous. I’ve known Bree—”
“For barely two years,” Mercy said firmly.
“But Lucas—”
“Might know absolutely nothing of his mother’s past.” She sighed. “I know this is difficult, Truman. I want to get Art’s opinion on the female theory.”