Light spilt through the windows as Fletcher parked, though the blinds were pulled down so I couldn’t see inside. I rang the doorbell, feeling jittery even as a wave of exhaustion passed over me. I would sleep for a week once these two cases were wrapped up.
A balding, middle-aged man answered the door, peering cautiously out at us. His skin was rather sallow, and he had bags under his eyes and a bit of paunch around the waist. He wore a cosy-looking jumper and jeans, his feet clad in slippers. The smell of roast meat and warm bread slipped out from behind him. My stomach rumbled. Lunch had been a long time ago.
“Can I help you?” he asked. He had a reedy, whiny voice.
When I showed him my badge, he turned white as a ghost and gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing. He opened the door wider, and I could see his hand tremble as he raised it into the air to usher us inside. While the exterior of the house was a lot of glass and rather boring off-white siding, the interior looked like it belonged within a log cabin. A rich maroon carpet covered much of the floor, and where there weren’t windows, the walls were covered in wood panelling and covered in pictures of the wilderness outside. It looked like Rickerson had taken many of them himself. The leather couches and chairs were draped with wool throws and plush pillows, sitting invitingly in front of a large television.
Rickerson had just sat down to dinner if the untouched plate and wine glass on the table was anything to go by. Hopefully, our interruption would put him off and make him more likely to give something up to us.
“What’s this about?” he asked as Fletcher closed the door behind us. He sounded distinctly nervous. I wondered if he’d heard about Dunnel trying to call him or if he was just naturally twitchy.
“Do you mind if we sit?” I asked, gesturing at the table.
“No, please.” Rickerson jerked his hands awkwardly at two empty chairs and sat down in front of his meal, staring at his wine glass as if he longed to drink all in one draught.
I took my duster off and hung it over the back of one chair before I sat down, making myself right at home in order to make Rickerson even more ill at ease. “Please, don’t stop eating on our account,” I said and nodded at his food.
Rickerson didn’t touch his knife or fork. He actually looked a little ill, a faint green tint to his skin.
“Do you live alone?” Fletcher asked as she looked around the room. I’d pegged Rickerson as a bachelor the moment we walked in. There was only one pair of shoes by the door, the table was set for one despite the extra chairs, and the scent of cigarette smoke lingered in the air.
“Yes,” Rickerson said. “What can I do for you, Inspectors?” He clearly wanted us out of his house as quickly as possible.
“We need to hear about what happened between you and Seamus O’Connell,” I said, and I honestly thought Rickerson was going to throw up.
He tried to recover and act naturally but failed spectacularly. The jitter of his leg, pallor of his skin, and sudden sheen of sweat across his face gave him away. “I’m afraid I don’t know who you’re talking about.” He smiled, but it was a sickly thing and quickly fell away.
“Unfortunately for you, I’m not in the mood for bullshit.” I gave him my own smile, one that was sharp and angry and perhaps a bit dangerous. “I’ve got a missing kid and a frightened scholar who are somehow both tangled up with the same nasty people. I’ve got Seamus O’Connell in custody, but he’s lawyered up and won’t give us anything. I’ve got a phoney charity and people who are apparently willing to kill for ancient cultural artefacts, and now, I’ve got you. A former councillor who took a bribe or did something so shameful he had to leave the public eye forever. What exactly did they want from you?”
“You know about Allraise Ventures?” Rickerson asked, voice shaking.
I nodded. “We know they’re some kind of front for this… Tomb Raider business. They kidnapped Finn Wair in order to get at the deed to the Castle of Old Wick, and they paid for the restoration of a newly discovered Life of St. Columbo manuscript. They’ve been keeping a watchful eye on the leader of the project, no doubt so they can steal it back when he’s done. What we don’t know is who’s in charge and where their base is. I was hoping you could tell us.”
Rickerson fidgeted beneath my stare. “These are not people you want to mess with,” he said as if that would get him out of telling us what he knew.
“We’re well aware,” Fletcher informed him, winking.
“Yes, they’ve already tried to kill us once,” I agreed.
Rickerson picked up his fork, but he didn’t do anything with it other than twirl it over and over in his fingers, the overhead light reflecting off the silver. “He reacts violently to people who come in between him and his money, and he only hires those who are… willing to send a message.”
“Who’s he?” I asked, but Rickerson was gearing up for a story.
“I suppose there’s not much more he can take from me.” Rickerson took a deep breath. “Seamus O’Connell came to see me in my office. He wanted me to sign a customs form and waive the taxes for a shipment of wool leaving the country. He offered me money. I
