CHAPTER 36
MAESTRO, VIRGINIA SUNDAY NOON
THE BOYS HAD wolfed down their first hamburger and baked potato before they stopped talking about the lineup at the Richmond Police Department. It wasn’t until they were building their second hamburgers that Rob started a new topic. “The ice was great on the pond this morning, Dad. We all raced and I won, easy.”
“You only beat me once, Rob, and that’s because you cheated. And the other kids were all twelve years old.”
“What about Pete? He’s a senior, older than me.”
“He’s a spaz, can’t figure out which foot is which.”
Ruth and Dix sat back, half listening, watching the boys eat and argue, mostly both at the same time. Dix said, “The amazing thing is I can remember when I ate just like that with my brothers.”
She nodded, but she was thinking, and Dix saw it. “We did a lot of good work this morning, Ruth. Give your brain a rest for a while.”
“I can’t.”
Rob said, “Hey, Ruth, do you skate? You think you can beat my little brother? If you do, you can race against me.”
“And the winner of that race will go against me, right?” Dix asked.
“Okay, Dad, with maybe a handicap.”
“And maybe a blindfold,” Rafe said.
“You’re that good, are you?” Ruth asked him.
“Beat my boys and see.”
Ruth grinned as she passed the mustard for the new round of burgers. Dix noticed that Rob didn’t dig into his hamburger right away, and that was unusual. “What’s up, Rob?”
Rob carefully laid his fork down on his plate. “I don’t know, but something’s wrong, Dad, with you. I think you’re all wound up. You and Ruth both.”
“I suppose that’s the truth,” Dix said. He imagined he knew where this was going, and he didn’t want to stop it. He said nothing, only nodded.
“Rafe and I were talking.” Here Rob shot a warning look at his brother.
“Yes?”
“Well, maybe—Nothing, Dad. We can talk about it later.” Rob pushed his chair back, grabbed his hamburger, and shot up. “We’re going to go sledding now.” He waved his hamburger. “I need my strength. Thanks for lunch.”
“Wait for me, Rob!”
“Be careful,” Ruth called after them.
Dix opened his mouth to demand to hear more, but he didn’t. They heard things, and they must be imagining even worse things. Rob was right, both he and Ruth were wound up. A discussion with the boys could wait until they were all ready for it, and he wouldn’t be ready for it until everything was resolved.
“They must blame me,” Ruth said, surprising him. “It’s easy to think that if I hadn’t come here, none of this would have happened.”
“Well, if they think that, they’re wrong and they’ll come to realize it. They’re fair and they’re bright. The best thing we can do for them is to put an end to all this as soon as we can. Then we’ll help them deal with it, Ruth. It’ll just take some time.”
His cell phone rang.
“Sheriff Noble.”
Ruth watched Dix’s face as he listened. When he punched off, he said, “That was Cesar Morales. He doesn’t have a name for us.”
“That sure makes me want to pop out with a profanity. All right, Dix. Cut the tease. Why did he call?”
“It turns out Dempsey’s girlfriend has been spending lots of cash. They pinned her with it and she finally told the detective that Tommy gave her nine thousand dollars in cash to keep safe until he and Jackie got back from a job.”
Ruth’s heart speeded up. “Did she give up anything that would help us find out who gave Dempsey the money?”
“As I said, Cesar didn’t have a name. But Tommy told his girlfriend it was for a job he was doing for a woman.” He paused, and grinned. “What he said, exactly, was that the job was for a crazy bitch at the music school in Maestro.”
CHAPTER 37
MAESTRO SUNDAY EVENING
DIX PULLED INTO Gordon’s driveway at six o’clock that evening. He turned to Ruth as he unfastened his seat belt. “You armed?”
“Oh yes.”
B.B. climbed out of his cruiser to meet them in the driveway. “Sheriff, Agent Warnecki. Somebody with the boys, Sheriff?”
“The boys went over to the Claussons’ for dinner and Foosball with their friends.”
“Are you going to arrest him, Sheriff?”
Dix said, “We’ll see, B.B.” He turned to scan the house as he murmured to Ruth, “When Christie disappeared, everyone in the department became the boys’ substitute mothers.” He turned back to B.B.
“We’ve got all our ducks in a row. Now, where did he go this afternoon?”
“He drove to Tara about two o’clock, then came back here maybe an hour ago. Looks like he turned on every light in the house.”
It did indeed, Dix thought, scanning the house. “I want you to stay in your car, B.B. If for some reason Dr. Holcombe leaves the house before we do, give me a call.”
“Especially if he’s running around waving a gun,” Ruth added.
Dix took Ruth’s arm, and they walked up the stone pathway to the front door. Gordon answered the door looking like an aristocrat in a gray cashmere turtleneck sweater and black slacks. Elegant and worldly, but exhausted, his eyes hooded and dull.
He knows we’re here for him, Dix thought, he knows.
Gordon paused in the doorway, staring at them. “Dix, Agent Warnecki. It’s Sunday; to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“We’d like to speak to you, Gordon.”
Gordon looked over Dix’s shoulder. “I’ve seen your deputy outside. I hope you don’t want to bring him in, too.”
“No, my deputy is guarding our backs.” Dix walked into the entryway as Gordon gestured them in.
“We’ve got some things to discuss with you, Gordon, like who hired Tommy Dempsey and Jackie Slater.”
“Who? Oh, those men you killed in the car chase. Oh, all right. Come on in then, it’s not like I can stop you.” Gordon waved them into the living room.
Dix and Ruth watched Gordon walk to a drink trolley on the far side of the room, lift a brandy bottle, an eyebrow arched. “Either of you want a drink?”
Ruth and Dix shook their heads. Dix said, “No, we’re fine.”
Ruth looked around the large open space, all windows and rich oak, dominated by a large grand piano at the far end of the room. The walls were covered with musical scores, beautifully framed—all of them, she knew, originals penned by the composers themselves. It was a comfortable room, elegant and subtle, filled with earth tones and oversized leather furniture. A fire burned brightly in the stone fireplace. They watched Gordon pour himself a liberal amount of brandy, splashing some of it over the side of the snifter, as if he’d already had too much.
“You have a lovely Steinway, Dr. Holcombe. I noticed it when we were here before.”
“Yes, you saw everything, didn’t you, when you searched my house?” Gordon walked to the eleven-foot black grand piano and laid a hand lightly on the keys. “Did you know that Steinway fought at the Battle of Waterloo?”
They shook their heads, and Gordon sighed, sipped his brandy. “Who cares?”
Dix said without preamble, “I don’t think I’ve mentioned yet, Gordon, that we know who hired Dempsey and Slater. Or perhaps you already know?”
“How would I know? Tell me, Dix.”
“Helen Rafferty.”
His hand jerked, and more brandy spilled out of his snifter. “Helen hired those two thugs? Why, for heaven’s sake? To kill Agent Warnecki here? Helen didn’t even know her last Saturday. That makes no sense, Dix.”
“No, Helen didn’t hire them to kill Ruth. She hired them to kill Erin.”
“What did you say? Kill Erin? That’s crazy. Why would Helen do such an insane thing? No, I was thinking it was that boy lover of Marian’s, Sam Moraga. I heard he wanted Erin but she didn’t want him.