40
Sean's assistant, Isabella Rojas, disdained Lottie but had to be nice to her. The customer is always right even though in this case Lottie wasn't a customer. Sean would fire her if she behaved rudely toward anyone. The truth was that Isabella, like many a woman before her, had fallen in love with her boss.
“He's out back, Miss Pearson.” Isabella forced a smile. “Statuary.”
“Thank you.” Lottie, with a supercilious air, swished back outside and found Sean carefully positioning chains around a massive recumbent griffin. “Sean.” She waved.
“Hi.” He held up his hand to the operator in the small crane ready to pick up the heavy object to place it on a flatbed.
“Who has bought this beautiful piece?”
“H. Vane Tempest.” He named a wealthy Englishman who owned a large estate west of town and whose symbol was a griffin.
“But of course.” Her eyes swept from the griffin to the crane to the flatbed and the large diesel semi that pulled it. “You must have a small fortune tied up in equipment. I never really appreciated how much. I guess you get quite good at leveraging your debt.”
“Hey, I'm a junkyard dealer. I have a nose for finding equipment at good prices. Take that crane there. New it would cost one hundred and thirty-nine thousand dollars. I picked it up for nineteen.”
“Fabulous,” she purred. “But how do you do it?”
“Contacts and”—he stared off into the distance for a moment—“Roger. He'd give the equipment the once-over, tell me how much it would cost to bring a piece up to speed, and then I could make an informed decision. And we always looked for reliable brands like Caterpillar. You pay more but you get more. You know, Roger really was a genius with anything that had a motor in it. He even kept that old wrecker's ball in perfect working order.”
“I'm so sorry about Roger. I know I've said that before, but I don't know what else to say.” She played with the ring on her pinkie finger, right hand. “When you worked as closely as you did with Roger it must be doubly disastrous.”
“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” Sean replied. “At first, I was so shocked I wanted to sell the business and walk away. Mom talked sense into me. Running away doesn't solve anything. Three generations of O'Bannons sweated into this ground. With any luck there will be a fourth and a fifth.”
“I certainly hope so.” She smiled. “You can imagine yourself an old man watching your grandson move statuary.”
“By that time they'll beam it up. You know, rearrange the molecules and send it without a crane and a flatbed.”
“Maybe.” She shifted her weight to her left foot. “I heard through the grapevine that you're going through with the Wrecker's Ball and I wanted to help.”
“Thank you, Lottie.”
“I thought perhaps I could perform some of Roger's chores.”
“That's just it. I don't know the half of what he did. He'd burrow down there in the garage and I was up here. He took care of the catering. I did the decorations but there were so many things that just happened. I'm afraid I never closely examined Roger's contributions to the business, or my life. I feel so—so guilty.”
“Sean”—she placed her hand on his forearm—“nobody does. It's not you. None of us knows what someone gives to our life until they're gone.”
“Uh—thanks.” He kicked the gravel path, then looked at her. “You'll be coming to the ball?”
“Of course. Well, I didn't mean to stay so long. I just wanted you to know I was available to help.”
41
On a hunch, Cooper had sent out the mug shot of the false Wesley Partlow to all state agencies. At four-ten in the afternoon, she was sitting at her desk writing a presentation. Next Wednesday she was to give a speech at Western Albemarle High School about law enforcement as a career. Much as she loved her job, she was tired and drawing a blank.
Part of the exhaustion came from always dealing with people who were themselves under great stress. She'd received a blast from Sean about the exhumation next Monday. He was honoring his mother's wishes but he thought the request was ghoulish and would prove inconclusive.
Once he let off steam she asked him if he knew about Roger's purchase of a share of a stock-car syndicate for forty thousand dollars, a big chunk of change for a hobby, and Sean said it wasn't any of his business how his brother spent his money. He regularly visited the track at Waynesboro and it made sense that Roger would want to get involved at the higher end of the sport if he'd saved some money. Dale Earnhardt and Richard Petty were his heroes.
“You can't take it with you” is exactly what Sean O'Bannon had said.
Then Coop had to meet Don Clatterbuck's mother at the bank to open his safety-deposit box. The title to his truck, his birth certificate, a few stocks and bonds were in the narrow metal box along with the combination to the safe.
Mrs. Clatterbuck swore she didn't know the combination and thought the safe was another one of Don's finds. Sooner or later he might sell it. He liked to trade. She didn't know where he acquired that trait. Neither she nor her husband were traders.
No love letters were sheltered in the safety-deposit box.
Coop thanked Mrs. Clatterbuck, wrote down the combination, and finally returned to the office.
At four-twenty she wandered over to the coffeepot. A jolt of caffeine might trigger speech ideas. All she could think of was, “How would you like to pick up drunks, deadbeat dads, and squashed accident victims? For variety you could question a drug dealer with his jaw shot off.” She knew if she continued in that vein she'd descend into the truly morbid. She no sooner had the coffee to her lips than Sheila buzzed her phone.
Returning to her desk, Coop picked up. “Deputy Cynthia Cooper.”
“Louis Seidlitz, the bartender from Danny's.”
“Yes, Mr. Seidlitz.”
“I remembered that little puke's name: Dwayne Fuqua. It was driving me crazy.”
“When I dropped by you said he didn't come in often.”
“No, he didn't. Like I said, maybe once a month. Dwayne was on a mission.”
“Sir?”
“Girls.”
“Lucky?”
“No more than most.” Louis laughed.
“Mr. Seidlitz, do you have a fax in the office there?”
“Yeah.”
“Don't hang up. Give me the number and I'll fax you a photograph. Tell me if you recognize anyone.”
He gave her the number. She faxed the photo of Donald and Roger.
She could hear the fax machine in his office grinding out the photo.
“Deputy?”
“Yes.”
“The guy with his hands in his pockets. He'd hang out now and then. With Dwayne.”
“Mr. Seidlitz, thank you so much. You've been a great help to me.”
“Sure. Any time.”
She hung up the phone, silently berating herself for being discouraged when she had first stopped by the bar. She'd felt she'd been sloppy. Well, Louis came through. He had just identified Donald Clatterbuck.
42
. . . Cool. A beautiful fall day.” Diego described the day in Montevideo, for the seasons were reversed south of the equator.
“Raining here. When the animals walk two by two I'll worry.” Harry laughed.
“Can you believe they're talking about the weather?” Pewter wrinkled her nose.