“I checked on that, too. These are authorized one-of-a-kind copies with blockchain provenance. I guess museums and people who own these works saw a way to make some money without actually selling the original. Everyone’s getting in on it. I calculated that all told, these NFTs add up to about five million bucks total. I think that was pretty much a vanity purchase. I mean, who would want to shell out that much money for a digital copy, even with authentic provenance? I doubt he could resell it or make money.”
“But that’s nowhere near the fortune that I calculated he left behind. And he ripped off Trask, too, so there has to be more.” She glanced at the screen. “And is there any way to at least get ahold of these NFTs?”
“Not without the private key.”
“Is that contained in some other clue we haven’t found yet?”
“It might be. I did learn that your father used things like substitution ciphers when he was doing the books for the mobsters. So he might have employed that here, too.”
“Really good work, Mickey, but we seem a long way from getting any money out of this.”
“I know.”
“And let’s not forget the very real possibility that my father has screwed us over.”
Gibson glanced nervously at Francine. “So, tell me more about seeing Rochelle and your brother. Did you learn anything new?”
“I learned that back in New Mexico Rochelle rode shotgun for me in a way I didn’t realize.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning she took shit from some others so they would leave me alone.”
“Why would she do that?”
Francine slid her sunglasses down and eyed Gibson. “Principally, because she loves my brother. My brother loved me. So, as she said, I was precious. She sacrificed her body for mine.”
“Damn.”
“And all this time I had seen her as the enemy.”
“And Bruce Dixon?”
“Dougie admitted to killing him, but Rochelle said that Bruce came after him with a machete when they showed up at his place. Dougie had no choice. It was him or Bruce.”
“Why would Bruce do that?”
“According to Rochelle, Bruce was not nearly as nice a guy as I thought.”
She went on to tell Gibson about Dixon raping Rochelle and then stealing her necklace.
After a long moment of silence Gibson said, “What happened to Rochelle’s father?”
“Don’t know. He disappeared pretty soon after my dad did. I told you her mother had done a runner already, like mine. So when Rochelle and I turned eighteen, we got the hell out. There was no reason to stay. And, as I told you before, Dougie and Rochelle later went off together. They’ve been together ever since.”
“How did your brother look?”
“Physically, not great. But...” She paused and glanced at Gibson. “He seems really happy with Rochelle. And she with him.” She cleared her throat. “That’s more than I have.” She frowned. “Sorry, that’s self-pity bullshit, I know.”
“I think it’s just being human.”
Francine’s next words were said in a businesslike tone. “And if we can’t get the money right now, there is something we can get.”
“What?”
She pulled a notebook from her bag and held it up. “Earl Fucking Beckett.”
Chapter 77
“I’m pretty busy,” said Wilson Sullivan as he stood in front of Gibson in the waiting area at police headquarters.
“Just wanted to catch up again and see how things are going. I thought we were working this together.”
“Well, things change. I got a dressing-down from the top. They don’t want collaborations with civilians.”
“Damn, that’s too bad. And just when I thought our working relationship was really hitting its stride.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry about that. Now, if there’s nothing else?”
“No, that’s about it.”
Sullivan turned to leave.
“Hey, Mark!”
He whirled around to see Francine Langhorne standing there.
“I think it’s time we talked,” she said.
Sullivan sipped his coffee and looked down at the table. They were in the police cafeteria, which was empty at this time of the morning.
“How’d you do it?” he asked.
“Just connected the dots,” noted Gibson. “Principally, your career trail matched Beckett’s.”
“That doesn’t tell me how you got my real identity.”
“I took your prints off the pen you were using when I visited you last time. We suspected you weren’t who you said you were. Past twenty years ago, Wilson Sullivan didn’t really exist.”
He eyed Francine. “And you’re really Harry Langhorne’s daughter?”
“In the flesh. Sorry to use an old WITSEC tactic to out you by using your real given name, but we had to make a move on the chessboard.”
“And where do we go from here?”
Francine tapped the table. “Earl Beckett. I know what he did to me and others. And we suspect what he did to your sister.”
“He raped her and when she threatened to tell, he murdered her.”
“But it was never proven?” said Gibson.
“Obviously not, since he’s a free man.”
Gibson glanced at his neck. “I checked your record. You were never wounded as a cop like you told me. So where’d you get that scar?”
Sullivan pulled his shirt collar up to cover the mark. “Let’s just say in my despondency over the death of my sister I attempted something very foolish. Luckily, I didn’t succeed.”
Francine and Gibson exchanged a glance.
“Okay,” said Francine. “We need to make sure we nail him now.”
“On what charge?” asked Sullivan.
“Murdering Harry Langhorne,” answered Gibson.
Sullivan looked at them both. “Can you prove it?”
“Maybe. With your help.”
He leaned forward. “How?”
“You’re working with him on this case. We think he’s taking advantage of that relationship to find the treasure that Langhorne left behind.” Gibson paused. “A treasure that you seem interested in, too.”
“My sister had a little girl, my niece. My parents raised her after Helen died. She’s now a grown woman and she has some intellectual disabilities. I was hoping if there was any money...”
“Well, we think there is money. And we believe we can use that as bait to reel Beckett in.”
“Okay, I’ll help you however I can.”
“Exactly what we wanted to hear,” said Francine.
Chapter 78
“What’s up?” asked Earl Beckett as Sullivan popped his head inside the man’s office at the federal building in Norfolk. It was a couple of days after Sullivan’s meeting with Francine and Gibson.
Sullivan took a seat across the desk from the marshal. “Look, can I talk confidentially?”
“Why, you think somebody’s eavesdropping on us in here?” Beckett said with a wry grin.
“No, but what I’m about to tell you I don’t want to go any further.”
“Okay.” Beckett sat up straighter and put his elbows on his desk as he took in the serious expression on the Virginia police detective’s face. “Shoot.”
“The Langhornes?”
“What about ’em?”
“I think I’ve found Francine and Doug Langhorne. And the mother.”
Beckett exclaimed, “What? Where are they?”
“The last place was an abandoned cottage about two miles from Stormfield.”
“What the hell are they doing there? And how did you find them?”
“It was actually Gibson who did the heavy lifting. She had some specialized software program on her computer that ProEye provided her. It’s a tracking device that takes in like ten thousand different factors.”