She turned her eyes toward the horizon, letting me know that she was having an internal debate.
I continued, “If I thought that my client was really connected to all this, I wouldn’t have brought you these chalk marks. We’re onto something here.”
Sheriff Tompkins eventually said, “We don’t know how he died yet. Still waiting for the medical examiner. But I’ll tell you this. He was murdered.”
By cyanide poisoning, I thought to myself. Despite my attempts at persuasion, the sheriff was not going to let me further into her investigation. She had no intention of solving this case together with me, but it had been worth a shot.
Her eyes studied me suspiciously. “You have a trial next week, Mr. Seagraves. Despite those wheels turning in your head right now, how Richard Kostas died won’t help you. The Medical Examiner doesn’t have to respond to a subpoena until the autopsy report is final. Two to three more weeks.”
The sheriff was right. Marisa’s hearing would be long over before the medical examiner finished the autopsy report. Even if I had it in hand, introducing it into evidence would be a stretch. The issue in her case was the theft of computer files, and not how her boss had died. But if I could prove that Kostas was the thief, and not Marisa, I could build a defense.
The sheriff said, “And besides, I know what you lawyers do in court. You’ll muddy up the evidence so much that no one can tell what really happened. I’m after the truth, Mr. Seagraves. I’m after the killer of Richard Kostas. My department is not here to help your client win in court.”
“Okay,” I replied, “but I brought these chalk marks to you. Kostas stole the confidential files from Benton Dynamics. That’s clear to me. This is the place where he passed them on to someone. Benton Dynamics was right to sue him. I’m not so sure about Marisa Dupree.”
“So why show this to me?” she asked.
“So you’ll arrest the killer. If you make an arrest and interrogate a suspect, well, that could help me at the hearing next Wednesday.”
“Assuming your client isn’t involved,” she said.
I nodded. “Yeah, true. Think you can tie these dead-drops together and find the killer?”
She adjusted her belt and holster. “That’s going to be hard. Nothing points to any one perp.”
“You’ve got to have some suspects by now, other than me. These chalk marks should give you some idea who killed Kostas. You can solve the case by Wednesday.”
Her face was like a marble statue. “I don’t know. The FBI is coming to Bridgeford Monday to take over this investigation.”
Wonderful. Just wonderful. I had just given everything I knew to Sheriff Tompkins, and now she would hand over her entire file to the feds.
“So you’re off the case?” I asked.
“Not exactly. There was a murder in my county. I’m not walking away.”
“Then see what you can do by Monday.”
She asked me to accompany her to the recycling bin at Opossum Creek. I drove there with the sheriff’s patrol cruiser behind me, which felt unnerving, even though I knew that she had no intention of pulling me over. She photographed the recycling bin with the second chalk mark and investigated for additional clues in the surrounding area, but found none and left.
Feeling drained, I returned to my house in Bridgeford. Glenn Bernthal would arrive within the hour to play racquetball and let me know what he had learned about secret research projects at Benton Dynamics.
13
When I walked up the driveway to my Victorian house, a tattooed man with a shaved head emerged from the shadows of the side porch. I took a half step backwards.
The man said, “I can’t believe it. Bryce Seagraves. It’s been way too long.”
“Glenn?” I asked, recognizing his voice, but not much else. “What’re you doing back there?”
“Nobody answered the front door,” he replied innocently. “I poked around back.”
“Dude, you look … different. Where’s your …?”
“Hair?” He rubbed his scalp. “Yeah, I should’ve warned you. The new me. A cross between a mutant biker and a rogue computer hacker. The ladies don’t seem to mind.”
“Man, I didn’t know it was you. You look like a guy the parole board automatically turns down.”
He grunted and grinned.
I asked, “What’d your supervisor say?”
“Nothin’. Probably too afraid to, even at NSA. Come here.”
I expected a handshake, but he gave me a bear hug instead.
Glenn said, “You lawyers are way too uptight. It’s got to be a year since you left.” He released his grip around my shoulders.
“Closer to two,” I said. “What’ve you been up to?”
“Living the dream, or the nightmare, or whatever you want to call it. So you're all the way out here on the Eastern Shore?”
“I like it,” I replied, deeply inhaling the salty air. “Tranquil. Lots of natural beauty. A whole different world from Fort Meade and D.C.”
“Sure got that right. And, Bryce, you’re finally driving the beast,” Glenn said, pointing his thumb at the Barracuda.
“Of course. I finished the restoration right after moving here. Remember when I rescued it from that auto graveyard?”
“Man, I barely recognize it,” Glenn said. “Anyone else would have given up and left it for scrap. Looks fantastic. How about letting me get behind the wheel … just over to the gym?”
“Well …” I replied.
“Hey, just kiddin’. Don't worry about it. I can spot a jealous man a mile away. What color is this?”
“Electric blue, and it really reflects the sunlight. The interior is all modern. If it had been in factory condition, I wouldn’t have updated anything. Considering it was a bucket of rust held together by spider webs, I took a few liberties. Brought it into the twenty-first century.”
Glenn leaned toward a window to look inside my car. “It’s awesome.”
“Thanks.”
“You know we got to get caught up. A lot has happened since you left. Some things changed. Some things never change. And before I forget, I got an intel report on that company you asked me to dig into.”
“Great,” I
