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“Not in recent years. He liked cash. He didn’t trust plastic, had little faith in banks. You know, part of his story. Capone.”

“In our last conversation you told me about your father’s business.”

“Vinnie’s Import Auto.”

“You told me that he took care of the exotics, often the cars of the summer people.”

“Yes, the Jags and Mercedes, some lovely sports cars. I’m not sure what they all were.”

“There’s a family that has a large piece of property along Lake Michigan; it’s the only place that’s specifically named in his book as a possible Capone treasure site. Hollingsford is the family name. Do you know anything about them?”

“I don’t remember that, but….”

“I was wondering if he might have worked on some of the family’s cars.”

“Dad was the only game in town if they needed anything more than an oil change. Hollingsford.” She repeated the name and looked thoughtful. “I don’t remember that name, either from back in the day or from reading his book. If it’s there, like you say, I totally missed it.”

“Just one more thing,” Ray said, “and we’ve been over this before, but I need to ask again. Did your father have any enemies, or might there have been someone overly interested in any of his possessions or money?”

“I can’t think of anyone, Sheriff.” Barton smiled weakly. “As you can see, I didn’t know much about my father’s life.”

They sat in an uncomfortable silence, Barton fidgeting with her empty cup.

“I need to do some planning for a memorial service,” she said finally. “When do you think his body might be available?”

Ray waited for her to look at him. It didn’t happen. “I will get that information for you,” he said gently. “I’ll call tomorrow and tell you what’s happening.”

17

“Here are the original photos from the crime scene,” Sue said, pushing the stack across the table. “I’ve looked at each one very carefully. It’s pretty much what you saw. Nothing new.”

“And you searched the surrounding area?”

“Yes, and found nada. We fished around in the water where the body was recovered. We also checked both sides of the road for a fair distance. Only the usual detritus: beer cans, plastic bags, fast food containers. None of it recent.”

“How about the other boot?”

“It wasn’t there—not in the water or anywhere else.” Sue crossed her arms. “So what do you think?”

“The same thing that you do,” Ray answered. “Fox was abducted. They used torture to try to get information out of him, probably a wood stove. How he died is still an open question, but they were putting a lot of stress on a very elderly man.”

“Bastards, I’m surprised they didn’t want to water board him,” said Sue.

“That would take work, assembling a teeter-totter and finding something to hold water. These guys aren’t into heavy lifting. They didn’t even go to the trouble of burying him. It would have been so easy to put Fox in a shallow grave. His body would have quickly decomposed, leaving almost no chance of ever being found. We would be looking for an old guy who had gone missing under suspicious circumstance rather than a couple of killers. These thugs are lazy and stupid.”

She moved on to the next pile. “I have lots of pictures from his home, plus fingerprints and the shoe casting.”

“Did you run the fingerprints?”

“Uh huh. No hits.” Sue took a moment to look at Ray’s notes on the whiteboard. “So what do we know so far?”

“Sterling reviewed the surveillance video of Fox and friends from the time they entered the casino to the time they drove away. He couldn’t spot any of the other gamblers paying Fox more than the normal interest that a big winner attracts for a few minutes. That said, given his age and costume, Fox was easy to spot. I’m sure some of the people recognized him as a regular, even knew where he lived. They could have taken their time tracking him down and snatching him.”

“And the other scenario, the Capone book?”

“Yes, there’s that too: some fool who’s been taken in by the book abducts Fox and tries to extract the location of the treasure. I guess I should say the many locations of the treasure. And the person or persons who tore up his house and stole his computer might have thought the info was on the hard drive.”

“Or,” countered Sue, “maybe they snatched him off the street, found $2,000, and went to his house looking for the rest. They took the computer with them because it’s something they could use or sell.” She paused and frowned at Ray. “What’s going on with you? You can’t sit still.”

“I’m trying to stay rational and control my anger. We’re just spinning our wheels here. We need to do a press release this afternoon and follow up with a news conference early tomorrow. That will get the Fox story on tonight’s news and keep it there.”

“I’ll write the press release,” said Sue, opening her laptop. “What do you want in it?”

Ray remained silent for a long moment. Finally he said, “The body of Vincent Fox, 89, first reported missing on Monday afternoon by family members was found late yesterday in northern Cedar County. The cause and circumstances of Fox’s death are under investigation.

“Fox was last seen on Saturday afternoon in Cedar Bay. If you saw Mr. Fox on Saturday, or later, or have any information that you believe might help the investigation, please contact the Cedar County Sheriff’s Department at ….”

“That was easy. Usual distribution list?”

“With the tip line and e-mail address. Attach the photo. And put in a sentence that we will be holding a press conference tomorrow at 9 a.m..”

As Sue continued to work on the e-mail, Ray added more information to the whiteboard. After a few minutes, Sue said, “Proof it.”

18

When Ray entered the bookstore, Phillip’s head was down. He only looked up after Ray had pushed the door closed.

“Good timing on your part. A signed copy of Harrison’s new book of poetry arrived in this morning’s post. I thought that I should offer it to you before putting it on the shelf.” Phillip slid the thin volume over the counter to Ray.

Ray admired the cover art, and then opened it to the title page to see the signature. “I will treasure this,” he said.

“I heard about Vinnie on the news,” said Phillip, standing up and resting his elbows on the counter. “Do you know what happened yet? Did he just wander off and die? Pensioners have been known to do that.”

“I’m sorry, Phillip, I don’t have any answers yet. We’re still investigating and waiting for autopsy results.”

Phillip wagged his finer. “You’re being terribly mysterious.”

“Not at all,” said Ray. “I’d just rather not say anything until I have all the facts. Which brings me to the reason for my visit—apart from always liking to come in here, of course.”

“What do you need?”

“Fox’s book. You told me that some copies were stolen. Would you go through the numbers again for me? I’m trying to get a sense of how many are in circulation.” Ray watched the reflection on Phillip’s glasses as he keyed in the title and looked at the screen.

“Right. I had ten copies from Vinnie: six went through the till, two went missing, and I gave you one of the last two.”

“Do you have any idea who purchased the six copies?”

Phillip worked at the keyboard again. “Fortunately not,” he said at last. “They were all cash sales. Most unusual. More than 70 percent of our sales are on cards. Furthermore, none of the purchasers is in our Members Club. Statistically improbable.”

“And the ‘fortunately not’ part?” Ray asked.

“Cash purchases provide no data other than title. I am clueless as to who purchased the books. Which is fortunate because I have nothing to tell you about him, or her, and am, therefore, able to avoid any kind of right to privacy mishap. You wouldn’t want me telling your opposition during the next election that you’re a Robinson Jeffers fan, would you? I can just see one of those adverts on the telly, the shrill-voiced bubblehead going on and on about how Ray Elkins is palling around with pacifist poets. Of course, there will be that little line at the end when the narrator says, ‘Call Ray Elkins and tell him not to read pacifist poets.’ And then your phone number would be flashed on the screen.” Phillip was laughing so hard he could barely get his final sentence out.