Chapter One
Cold, Dark Danger
Dave McGuire stood at the window, an oatmeal cookie in one hand—termination of employment letter in the other.
Dear Mr. McGuire,
Commonwealth of Virginia regrets to inform . . . office no longer funded . . . your position as senior online advisor has been terminated.
He shook his head. Beautiful, he thought, simply beautiful. He finally got a job that gave him stability freelance work never did. He and Amy were clicking so well they were even talking about a ski vacation. Oh yeah. All of the unemployed are flocking to the slopes in droves. Goddamned funding.
He checked his watch. Amy was due any minute. He promised he’d help her pack up her sold paintings. But the snow that had been predicted to quit two hours earlier was coming down heavier than ever. Even with taking her all-wheel drive Volvo walking would be the fastest way to get to the Torpedo Factory. Unemployment, he thought, what a happy topic of conversation for a walk in the snow.
His mood brightened when his mobile phone rang and the caller ID told him his cousin Chris was calling. He hadn’t seen Chris since he left Vermont for his job in Virginia.
“Hey cuz, it’s about time you called me. I’ve called you a lot since I got your email last night. I can’t believe old Henry Wheatley’s gone, and in a fire no less. That’s terrible news!”
“It is in more than one way,” Chris answered. “I’m in trouble.”
“Say again. We’ve got a crappy connection… did you say you’re in trouble?”
“Get here tomorrow. I’ll fill you in—”
“Don’t drop this bomb on me and expect me to sit tight until tomorrow.” Dave was breathing hard. “Is this about Wheatley’s fire? The obit you attached said the fire was an accident. But what I can’t figure is how an old coot like Henry got himself out of the house and all the way up to the barn. He’s confined to a wheelchair!”
“Trust me, the obit is bullshit. The fire was no accident. Neither was Henry’s being in the barn.”
“But the fire marshal said the cause was faulty wiring.”
“No way. The fire was set, and I know who did it.”
Dave tried to process it all. “Are you serious?”
He kept the phone to his ear and walked through the living room to answer the door. It was Amy. She blew him a kiss and stepped inside. He handed her the pink slip message and shrugged.
“This is no joke. I wanted to call you last night rather than send the email, but there’s too much going on. I need you to look at some time-stamped computer documents and email I pulled off the corporate server where I used to work. It’s a sequence of events leading up to Henry’s death. You and I’ve known the Wheatleys since we were kids; that’s why I sent the obit. If I can, I’m going to track down a few more bits of information tomorrow. I’ll lay it all out for you before I blow the whole goddamn mess sky high.”
“What do you mean if you can?”
“I’m being watched. I can’t go anywhere.”
“Who’s watching you?”
Amy placed the letter back on the table. Her eyes were wide and locked on Dave’s.
“Right now I can just tell you the people who killed old Henry work for the company I left a few months ago. There’s bad blood between me and them. They know I can nail them for murder.”
“Have you gone to the police? If not, hang up and go there right now. They’re going to be much more helpful than me.”
“I’ll do that. As soon as I’ve got everything I need to make my case. But I’ve got to pick my cops carefully. Some of them are in real tight with my old boss. I’m just…”
“Chris, you’re breaking up. Chris, you there?”
“…and I’ll let you know.” he said.
“You’re back. I lost you for a second. It’s snowing like hell now, but it’s supposed to stop before midnight. I’ll be on the first flight I can get out of here.”
“Good. If I’m not at the apartment when you get here there’s a laundry closet at the end of the hall. There’s a magnetic hide-a-key box behind the dryer.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m in Newfane outside the records office, waiting for a clerk’s shift to end so that I can get online. This guy knows me from my Vanguard-Wolfe days. He doesn’t know I’m now ex of.” His voice trailed off to almost a whisper. “For the time being I want to keep it that way.”
“God, Chris, you’re worrying me. Is there anyone there now, in town you can talk to? Anyone you can trust?”
“A couple of people, maybe. But I’m walking on thin ice. It’ll be…just…to…”
Dave punched the redial button. Chris’s phone never rang. The recorded greeting cut in, “Chris Carter is not available. Please leave a message at the tone.”
“Chris, I lost you again,” Dave’s voice gave away his frustration as he left the message. “Call me back.”
Amy threw her arms around him and squeezed him close. “Oh my God. What was that all about?”
“That was my cousin Chris. He’s in serious trouble and needs my help. He lives in Brattleboro, Vermont. Rutland’s the closest airport. Let me see what the flight situation is.”
He waited nearly five minutes for the Jet Blue operator to pick up his call. She told him that Reagan National, Dulles and BWI were all closed for the day and would not reopen until late morning the next day. She said that passengers on canceled flights were getting top priority for rebooking to Rutland, Hartford and Albany. As of now, all of our flights tomorrow are booked.”
“Then I’ll have to try U.S. Air or Delta.”
“Sir, that is your choice, however all carriers are grounded. I’m sure they’re handling passengers on their canceled flights the same way. I’d be happy to put you on stand-by for the first available flight, but that will be the day after tomorrow at the earliest.”
“No, that’s all right. I can’t wait that long.” He hung up and let out a sigh.
“Let me guess, the airport’s closed.”
“That’s right. I’ll try Amtrak.”
The train was a non-option. Nothing was getting past Trenton. DC, Baltimore and Philly stations were choked with people waiting for service to resume.
“Any chance I can borrow your car?”
“Oh damn, I wish you could, but it’s at the dealership. I took it in yesterday for it’s regular servicing. Turns out it needs a wheel bearing or something. It’s going to take two days to get the part and install it.”
“Don’t worry about it. If the snow stops at midnight, I should be all right with my car.”
“Can the Fiat make it in the snow?”
“It did when I lived in Vermont. If they get the highways clear I’ll be all right.”
“You mean we’ll be all right.”
“No, your coming’s not a good idea.”
“I can’t stay here worrying about you.”
“Amy, this could be very dangerous.”
“And less dangerous if I’m back here?”
“For you, yes.”
“You know I’ve got crime investigation in my blood.”
“Maybe so, but I want all of your blood right where it is—in your body.”
Chapter Two
A Muse in the Works
Walking to Amy’s studio was an arduous process of stepping up and over twelve inches of snow, and carefully planting each foot on an icy brick sidewalk. King Street was bumper to bumper with stalled traffic. One car spinning its wheels blocked the busiest intersection in Old Town. Dave felt paralyzed.
“With my job in the dumpster it’s just as well that I couldn’t get a flight. Driving’s a lot cheaper, especially when you factor in not having to rent a car.”
“I feel so bad for you. I know you loved that job.”
“We had over three hundred students enrolled. Teachers all over the state were crazy about our online writing enrichment. And then, with a click of the budget-balancer’s mouse, we’re history.”
“Look at it as receiving a gift of time. You can focus on Chris without worrying about work.”
Dave appreciated her putting things into perspective. He took her hand as they crossed Union Street. The Torpedo Factory was on the corner. Before it became home to painters and sculptors it had been a munitions manufacturer—a major producer during World War II. The open space above the factory floor went four stories to the roof. Steel trusses, exposed pipes, and long-idled hoists and chains had been preserved from earlier days. Gaily colored mobiles spun high above the floor, softening the industrial atmosphere.
He followed her up one flight of stairs and past three studio doors. The fourth frosted glass door was hers, studio 222. She turned her key in the lock and opened the door. Across the room a stocky man wearing a black overcoat stood with his back to them. As Dave squinted to get a better fix on the figure, Amy nervously turned on the lights. The man turned to face them. He held a cell phone to his ear and waved with his other hand.
“False alarm,” she said with a sigh of relief. “Dad! I hate it when you come barging in like this with no warning.”
Her father turned his back again and continued with his conversation. “Now listen to me, Tom. Without question, this is your case. It belongs to you guys in Atlanta. That’s it. End of story.”
Amy whispered to Dave, “I told you about my father being ex-FBI and that he consults to the Bureau eight days a week.”
Dave nodded.
“I’ve tried to figure out how to introduce you to him. Looks like today’s the day.” She linked her arm into his as they waited for the phone conversation to end.
“This is definitely domestic terrorism,” he continued. “You’ve found some bad-boy weapons stashed in the woods, but until someone shows up to retrieve those crates, you don’t have squat.”
Amy pulled him close. “Dad eats this stuff alive. He sits at his computer all day and plays FBI investigations like a musical instrument.”
“He must really know the business.”
Amy rolled her eyes.
Her father turned to them again. He held up his forefinger. “You’ve got to convert your whistleblower into a bona-fide eyewitness. Let me catch up with you at six. I’ve got some people here. Later.”
“Honestly, Dad!” Amy said with edge in her voice.
“You gave me a key,” he said, dangling it in front of her.
“You could at least have turned on the lights.” She threw her hat and coat onto a chair. “I might have had a heart attack.”
Dave wondered if there was any way the timing could have been worse for his introduction to Amy’s father, and decided that wasn’t possible. He checked his phone to make sure he was in a place with solid network coverage. He didn’t want to lose the call when Chris phones again.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Her father shifted his weight from one leg to the other, and then reached into the breast pocket of his overcoat. “I was leaving a couple of tickets to the Annie Liebowitz opening for you when I got a call.”
“Annie Liebowitz tickets? Okay, you’re forgiven,” she said, giving him a hug. “Also, I know just the fellow I’m going to ask to take me.” She smiled at Dave and tried to make the best out of the situation.
“Dad, I’d like for you to meet Dave McGuire. Dave, this is my father, Wayne Sinclair.”
“McGuire, you say?” Wayne said with upraised eyebrows. “We’ve got a Phil McGuire at headquarters—a handwriting specialist.”
Dave smiled and shrugged. “No relation, I’m afraid.”
“Never hurts to ask.”
The two men shook hands.
“So tell me, Dan, are you an artist or, better yet, an art buyer?”
“Not Dan—Dave!” Amy protested. “I’ve told you all about Dave, spelled D-a-v-e. We’ve been dating for several months. He’s a teacher, and he’s a writer.”
“Oh yes, your online dating beau. I didn’t realize you were still an item.” Wayne gave Dave a long look. “Nor was I aware of your dual careers. So, what have you published?”
“A few short stories in literary magazines and online journals. Nothing you can buy in a bookstore.”
Wayne nodded the way you do when you haven’t the slightest interest in the daily specials the server is reciting.
“Please excuse my father. He’s forgotten his politeness pill today.” Amy put her hands on her hips and glared. Then she shook her head and softened. “So tell me about these hot tickets.”
“I would have told you yesterday, but you didn’t call.”
“I can’t call every single day, Dad. I get busy. Like you get busy?”
“Got it.” He held his hand up in the stop position. “These are for the preshow opening at the Corcoran. It’s black tie. There’ll be music. The food’s supposed to be good, and an open bar—” He winked. “I won’t be there. But Ms. Liebowitz will be, along with an entourage from the Hill and a string of celebrities.”
“Oh, thank you, Dad, but I can’t go this weekend.” She hugged him. “But you should go. This is a big deal.”
“These galas were your mother’s thing, not mine. My favorite company on a Saturday night is my recliner. So why can’t you go? I thought you loved Liebowitz.”
“I adore her, and I hate missing the opening, but this Saturday is the Art League’s fund-raiser. I’m part of the program.”
“Imagine your turning down Liebowitz for cellos and sushi on a cracker. Not that it will change your mind, but I ran into Mort Van Zandt’s son Roland the other day, and mentioned I’d be giving you the tickets. Not knowing you were already spoken for I said that if you weren’t otherwise committed, you’d give him a call. For what it’s worth, he was all smiles.”
“How could you do such a thing?”
“Well, you two seemed quite interested in each other at my holiday open house.”
“Interested? Dad, I was only there thirty minutes. Roland Van Zandt would put a room of howler monkeys to sleep.”
Dave stifled a laugh even though his mind was fixed on anything but fun and games.
“Okay—I was just trying to do something nice for you. I’ll give the tickets to Roland along with your regrets.” Wayne grimaced and leaned on a counter top.
“Dad, would you like to sit down? It looks like your back is hurting.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got an appointment with two ibuprofen and a martini.” His florid cheeks wrinkled. “I’ll take a rain-check.”
“Your doctor told you ibuprofen bothers your kidneys. He wants you to—”
“So my starving artist is now a physician?”
Dave noticed a portrait photo of Amy, framed and hung on the wall behind her desk. It was a Washingtonian magazine cover.
“I’m not starving, and I’m not a physician. I just care about your health. I’m sure your doctor would—”
“I follow my doctor’s advice. The parts I agree with.”
“Well, they’re your back and your kidneys.” Amy stepped away from her father and stood at Dave’s side.
She put her hand on her father’s shoulder and directed him toward the door.
Wayne turned and said, “Nice meeting you, Dan.”
“Same here.” Dave felt disjointed and didn’t know what to say when Amy returned.
She shook her head as she got closer.
Her red cheeks were flushed. “That was awful!”
“I liked the Roland Van Zandt part.”
“Oh yeah, that was a riot! Let’s get these masterpieces wrapped and boxed before the UPS guy gets here. We’ll start with that seascape, the street scene, and the one next to it. Everything going out has a white tag on it.”
“I’m almost sorry you sold this one. It’s my favorite.” He stood back to take in an oil painting of an old black man seated on a small wooden keg.
The subject wore faded jeans and a bright red shirt open at the chest. His silver hair contrasted with his dark skin. His eyes were shut tight as he held a sweet note on his harmonica. Curled at his feet was a hound, its forepaws draped over the old man’s shoes. “I feel as though I could pet that dog.” He stepped closer and shook his head in deep admiration. “Sorry for my mouthful of clichés.”
“Don’t apologize. I’ll take them as compliments.” She stood behind Dave. He could feel her body heat.
His cell phone ringing tore the mood like a sheet of paper. He took a quick glance at the caller ID window and nodded to Amy, then took a few steps away. “Chris! Thank God!” His heart was pounding.
“Jesus, man. This is bad.” Chris’s voice was drowned by the sounds of a clattering motor.
“I’ve been going nuts since I lost you on our last call. Are you okay?”
A couple entered the studio. Amy signaled to Dave and left to tend to the customers.
“I tried to reach you after I left Newfane, but the call kept failing. You know how the cell coverage here sucks!” Chris shouted. “Can you hear me over all this noise?”
“Yeah, go ahead.” Now Dave heard children laughing and shouting in the background.
“I’ll give you the whole story when you get here. But for now, some people I used to work for cornered me a couple days ago. They’re behind Henry Wheatley’s death and a few others. They’re all over me to turn over the files we used at an investor meeting back in November. I told them I don’t have that data, but they’re not buying it. They’ve grabbed my laptop and have some geek scouring the hard drive. They’re tailing me everywhere I go, including right now. There’s someone outside the door here. I’ve got to keep my voice down.”
“And if you don’t give them what they want—?”
“I figure I’ve got another day or two. After that I’ll either be gone or dead.”
“Chris, do you have the information they want?”
Before Chris could reply an angry voice cut in. “What the fuck are you doing in here? Who the hell you talking to?” The intruder spoke with a thick New York accent.
Chris’s voice was shaky. “It’s a friend. He wants to go skiing.”
“Motherfucking skiing, for Christ’s sake! Gimme that fucking phone!”
The line went dead.
Dave stood trembling. He couldn’t redial Chris. Should he go ahead and call the police? Where would he send them?
He tried to make eye contact with Amy. Her customers were absorbed in a painting, and then gestured to say they weren’t so sure. Their body language and handshakes indicated that they were interested but. The moment they were out the door she rushed over. “Your call was bad news. I can tell.”
“Make that horrendous. We’re talking and all of a sudden this guy threatening to kill him if he doesn’t hand over some information comes on the phone. He was enraged, demanding to know who was on the phone. He must have grabbed it from Chris because the last thing I heard was a loud cracking sound. He probably smashed the phone.”
“Chris should just give him the information.”
“He doesn’t want to because the file contains evidence that could link Chris’s former employer to murder.”
“Oh my God! Has he gone to the police?”
“Just before the line went dead I told him to go to the cops or get out of town.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to try to get up there in time to help him.” He looked her in the eye and shook his head. “This is worse than I thought.”
“I know you don’t want me there. But I’ve got to come. I have a lot of my father’s detective instincts. I can help you.”
“I can’t let you put your life in danger.”
“I won’t do anything risky. I’m an excellent problem solver and I know I can help you figure out what to do for Chris.”
“Amy, it’s not a good idea.” He pulled back from the embrace.
“Dave, I don’t watch CSI, but I am a trained visual artist. I can read faces and posture and determine when someone is lying. When I concentrate on a setting it comes to me immediately if something is out of place, or just wrong in some way.”
“No question, those skills would help, but your father would flip out if he knew I was bringing you into Chris’s situation.”
“My father doesn’t get a vote on everything I do.”
“Listen honey, I don’t want you to be in harms way just to have the benefit of your innate detection skills.”
“Who you will go to first in Brattleboro to get a lead on where Chris might be—assuming the worst, that he’s not there when you arrive.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll knock on the doors of his neighbors and ask them.”
Amy looked directly into his eyes and gave a small shrug, as if she was waiting for the rest of it. “Okay, that can’t hurt.”
“But only because it’s convenient and not an intelligent way to start an investigation?”
“He lives in an apartment. It’s not like a college dorm where everyone knows each other and hangs out together. For all we know his neighbors are old farts in their eighties, and never stick their heads out the door, or maybe a single mom with two screaming toddlers.”
“I’ve never met his neighbors, so I really can’t say.”
“Of course you can’t and that’s not the point. It’s possible Chris’s neighbor is a close friend that knows everything that’s going on. If that’s true, I suspect he might have mentioned his name to you on the phone as someone he trusts.”
“I did ask him if there was anyone in Brattleboro that he trusted; someone who might help. He said no.”
“So let’s say you try the neighbors and maybe they’re not home, or they are home and you get the vibe that they really don’t know your cousin very well. Now you’re out of neighbors. Is your next step the police?”
“If I had my way, you bet. But Chris was intent on keeping the cops at bay until he could round up some piece of information he was trying to get.”
“So the cops are on hold for the time being. Brattleboro’s a pretty good size town. Who’s your next contact going to be?”
Dave raised his hands in surrender. “I don’t know who the next contact will be, but we’ll have eight hours tomorrow to figure that out.”
Chapter Three
Tighten the Noose
Betty Wolfe checked the clock and drummed her fingers on the table. It was after six. The offices of Vanguard-Wolfe Enterprises were quiet, except for voices behind the closed conference room door. Betty Wolfe, and Vanguard’s CEO, Vince Delray leaned over the shoulders of Bob Bennett, the company’s director of IT Services and peered at the monitor of Chris Carter’s laptop.
“There’s no trace of the data we loaded onto this box for the Las Vegas meeting. No lists, spreadsheets or Power Points are on the hard drive. I ran an OTERP check just as a double check.”
“What’s that?”
“Sorry, it stands for On Track Easy Recover Pro. It’s the best data recovery program out there.”
“And you found zip?”
“Pretty much. It found some deleted directories and files, but not what we’re looking for.”
“We have a problem, gentlemen. I can smell a whistleblower a mile away, and our promising associate Chris Carter is one. I blame myself. If I thought he had such a weak stomach, I wouldn’t have brought him to that meeting. I misjudged him. I thought he was an opportunist that cared about making money, and nothing else.”
“If he’s such a problem, why don’t we make him just disappear.” Vince Delray sipped his coffee and shrugged. “We’ll just add him to the Dead End file.”
“I’ve got Eddie Sauers working on that.”
“He’s the guy for that. He’s been with us for years and knows how to close out these kinds of troublesome accounts.”
“I told him to be here at six.” As she glanced at her watch Sauers came through the door. “Did you find Carter?”
“Yeah, finally. I’ve been watchdogging his apartment but he’s not showing up there. But today I got a tip.”
“Who tipped you?”
“This bartender where I hang out is some kind of friend of his. He told me that if Carter was in town he’d probably show up to register for this carnival thing that’s going on. So I stake the place out and sure enough he shows.”
“So where is he now? Is he…?”
“That I can’t say. We’re at the ice rink. He sees me coming and bolts. I find him hunkered down behind the goddamn Zamboni talking on his freaking phone. I punched him a few times but he landed a lucky one himself and took off. By the time I got out in the parking lot he was gone.”
“Jesus Eddie. This guy’s no match for you. How’d that happen?” Delray glared at Sauers and shook his head in disbelief.
“Everything’s all icy back there. I slipped and he connected.”
“Damn!” Betty pounded the table. “He’s either gone to the cops or split town. If he’s smart, and I think he is, he’s gone.”
“Naturally I didn’t check in with the cops, but I did go back to his apartment a few times, but I missed him.”
“What, he came and went?” Delray’s voice rose. “How did you know whether he was inside or not? You got a fucking key?”
“Vince, come on. You’ve seen me use my picks.”
“Okay, you got in. What did you see that tells you he’d been there and split?”
“Like I said, I nailed him a couple good ones before he took off. My ring caught him just under the eye. He was bleeding pretty good. The kitchen was a mess with blood and wadded up paper towels. He must have doctored himself up there before hitting the road.”
“So we’ve got a bloody Chris Carter who may just decide to tell the wrong people that we don’t play nice. If he goes to the cops I think we can shortstop him. If he takes his story higher, like the state police or FBI, we could have problems, thanks to you.”
“Well, what kind of evidence does he have?” Sauers became defensive. “You’ve got the creep’s computer.”
“The computer’s been scrubbed clean.” Bob Bennett turned in his swivel chair to face Eddie. “It’s not rocket science to download data to a portable storage device, or even email it to your favorite law enforcement agency.”
“I’m sorry you guys, but don’t worry, I’ll get him.”