Dying Truth Page 7

  “Uh-huh.”

  Cade wasn’t going to say the word “hack,” but it was understood between them. This wasn’t the first time he had made use of Rissa’s skills.

  “Come back to me in forty-eight hours with anything you can find.”

  “Sure. You okay?”

  “Better now,” Cade told her and meant it.

  “Okay, going to go. Leave it with me.”

  The call ended, and he checked the time. Almost nine-thirty. He looked around the office. It had Beth’s hallmarks all over it. She ran the back office for Brandon, helping in the shop when they were busy or shorthanded. There was a computer, which was locked. None of the obvious passwords worked, and he gave up on it. The filing cabinets were also locked, but the key wasn’t hard to find. He wanted any evidence of payments being made. Anything that would show the Dexters were receiving money. It wasn’t evidence of extortion, but it was a start. And it would be just like Beth to make sure that there was some kind of paper trail for it. He searched.

  Nate arrived two hours later. Cade’s search of the office had turned up nothing but invoices and receipts, staff records, tax details. Exactly what you expected to find in the office of a small business. Nothing to show that the Dexters were receiving money from the Collinses. Beth probably kept something like that close. At home maybe, or locked away in the cloud. He would need to get the password for the computer, or knowing her, passwords.

  Cade had locked the main doors of the shop and put up the Closed sign at the reception desk. A couple of customers had turned up and gone away again, disgruntled when no one appeared to greet them. The back office was reached through the shop, but he could see the front lot from a CCTV camera that fed a black-and-white monitor in the office. He saw a police cruiser pull up and Nate get out, carrying a bulky plastic box in one hand. Cade went out and unlocked a small door set into the double doors of the shop.

  “’Bout time.”

  Nate stepped through, and Cade closed the door behind him.

  “Like I said: I didn’t want the chief knowing where I was going.”

  “He’s going to hear about it eventually, in a town like this.”

  “Once we’ve squeezed this place for any evidence we can find, yeah. So, you used to be a cop?”

  “Brandon told you that?”

  “No. He never mentioned you that I can recall. Just a hunch.”

  “Fifteen years. Houston.”

  “Two years. Right here. So, you know your way around a crime scene.”

  “Sure do.”

  “Then we’ll be done a lot quicker.”

  Nate went to work. Cade showed him where Brandon had lain and shared the pictures he had taken. Nate put on some latex gloves and handed a pair to Cade.

  “If anyone asks, I gathered all the evidence. You were outside and the crime scene was sealed.”

  “Sure was.”

  Nate reached into the box, took out a handful of clear plastic bags, and handed them to Cade.

  “Bag anything that looks out of place. You know the drill.”

  There wasn’t much to find, apart from the wrench, which hadn’t yielded any prints when dusted. The shop was immaculate, with all the tools in place, cleaned and oiled. The spot on the wall- mounted tool rack that the wrench had been taken from was glaringly obvious. Nate found an oily cloth under a workbench. It looked to be a cleaning rag made from an old T-shirt. There were two others, oily beyond practical use, in a trash can in a corner of the shop.

  “That could’ve been used to clean the prints off the wrench,” Cade pointed out. It was certainly out of place on the floor.

  “Way ahead of you,” Nate said as he bagged it. “So, why the Dexters?”

  Cade had already told him what had happened since he and Beth left the police station.

  “It was a protection racket.”

  “Proof?”

  “Not so far. I’m going to check at the house.”

  “Later. We need to get a report filed and this evidence away. I want you to come back to the station house with me.”

  Cade nodded. “You know about the Dexters?” he asked.

  “Of them.”

  “You know they’re running protection on other people, too?”

  “I hadn’t heard.”

  “You have now.”

  “Who else?”

  “Charlie Biggs, for one.”

  Nate snorted. “Chief Joseph will laugh his ass off. Everyone knows Charlie hates the Dexters. Goes back a long way.”

  “He told me Pete Zalinski, Zach Green, and Nevers. No details, just the names.”

  Nate took out a notebook and a pencil, scribbling the names. “Uh-huh. Well, I’ll talk to Charlie and Pete. I heard Zach moved to Massachusetts. I’ll see if I can dig out a number for him.”

  Before locking up the shop, Cade found his car keys and pulled out into the lot. The gas smell had vanished, as had a rattle in the engine when it was idling that had been there so long, he didn’t even think about it. A new tree cutout hung from the rear-view mirror, filling the cab with a new-car smell. After his fight with Beth, Brandon had occupied himself with work. And he was good at his job.

  He followed Nate back to the station house. The young cop led him through reception and punched a code into a door opposite the one Cade had left by earlier. It led into a short corridor. Corkboards covered one wall with wanted posters, pictures of stolen goods, and FBI memos to local law enforcement. A door on the other side let into a small kitchen. Past that was another labeled Evidence, then a large office. With a wood floor, it looked out over a parking lot at the rear of the building. A wood and glass partition at the end of the room separated another office with Chief Patrick Joseph stenciled on the glass of the door.

  The chief himself was sitting on the edge of one of the desks in the main office. He held a steaming mug and was talking to three men, one of them a uniformed cop. One of them was the cop who had cuffed Cade the previous night. He was standing next to the chief, both in civilian clothes. A third man in plain clothes sat at one desk. He wore a dark suit and polished shoes, his hair sculpted. Cade caught the glint of gold beneath the starched cuff of a shirt on his right wrist.

  The cop had red hair and looked to be in his forties. He caught Nate’s eye, then glanced at the chief and put his eyes down. An open box of donuts sat on one desk, and the chief dipped into it. He looked up as Nate came into the office, followed by Cade.

  “Well, if it ain’t Mister D and D. Didn’t expect to see you back with us so soon. What’s he done this time, Nate?”

  “Nothing, sir. Someone attacked Brandon Collins last night in his auto shop. Mr. Cade found him this morning.”

  “That a fact.” The chief’s gray eyes glittered from his heavy features. He stood, putting the coffee and donut down.

  “Is he a suspect?”

  “No, sir. He spent most of the night here, as you know.”

  “Most. We didn’t pick him up until—what time was that, Mitch?”

  “’Bout eleven or so.” Mitch chewed, open mouthed.

  “We don’t know what he was doing before that,” the chief pointed out.

  “Well, I’ll take a statement from Mr. Cade. He called us and has been cooperative. I, uh, I didn’t expect to see you this morning, Chief.”

  “Just leaving. Got caught up. Did I tell you I’m playing golf over at Harriston?” Joseph turned to Mitch.

  “No, sir. You didn’t. Over at the country club?”

  “That’s right. Friend of mine is a member and is signing me in for the day.”

  “I play there,” said the man in the suit, with a New York accent. “Excellent restaurant. You should try the Boston lobster.” He had a smooth, plump face and tanned skin.

  Nate approached the man in the suit with a diffident cough.

  “Excuse me, sir. That’s my desk,” Nate told him with a polite smile.

  The man looked up at him, then glanced at the chief. “Sorry about that, officer,”
he said. “Excuse me.”

  He stood, offering the chair. Nate pulled another over from against the wall and placed it before Cade.

  “Well, Chief Joseph. Thank you for your time, as always. If you could look into that small matter for us, that would be very much appreciated.”

  He shook hands with the chief. “That’s not a problem, Charles. Burford Police Department is always happy to help a citizen. Anything we can do.”

  The sharp suit left. Chief Joseph walked up to Cade, who stood behind the chair Nate had given him. He spoke to Nate but never looked away from Cade. Mitch hovered behind him.

  “Nate, I will expect a full report on this incident at Collins Autos. I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning. And I’ll expect an ironclad alibi for Mr. Cade here.”

  Cade didn’t blink as he met the chief’s heavy-lidded stare.

  “Billy Dexter play much golf, Chief?” he asked.

  Chief Joseph didn’t react, but behind him, Mitch flinched. Cade knew he had given away a potential advantage just to score a cheap shot. But he didn’t care. The chief’s smile didn’t waver, but he showed a few more teeth.

  “How would I know?” he answered.

  Cade sat down, turning his back on the chief. Nate didn’t take his seat until his boss stamped out of the room.

  10

  It was after two by the time Cade left the station house. The town library was in the basement of the town hall, just across the street. He found a space to park on Donnelly Street, which ran on past the town hall. The crowd from earlier had gone, but someone had set a trestle table up on the lawn in front of the town hall. Leaflets were weighed down against the breeze coming off the river. A printed sign adorned the front of the table:

  No, to Fracking

  A woman with long gray hair and a long floral skirt stood behind the table, arranging pamphlets and leaflets. She looked up as Cade approached.

  “Care to sign our petition, sir?”

  “I don’t live here,” Cade told her without slowing.

  “That’s okay. You don’t have to be a resident to be concerned about the destruction of the natural environment. The more fracking that’s approved, the more people and our environment will suffer.”

  “Ma’am, I’m from Texas. Drilling for oil ain’t frowned on where I’m from.” He said it with a smile, but the woman stared back blankly.

  “Fracking destroys the water table, polluting drinking water with flammable and highly toxic natural gas. Environments such as the Grey Valley are home to many species that are only found here. It will destroy their habitat.”

  Cade found her humorless stridency annoying. “Look, ma’am. Anything that brings down energy prices is okay with me.” Which wasn’t strictly true. He had given up his apartment, so energy prices didn’t worry him right now. But he felt needled and had things to do.

  “Well, then sorry to have bothered you, sir. Have a nice day.” She gave him a thin-lipped smile that told him he could read the opposite in what she had said to him. She looked away as though he had ceased to exist. Cade chuckled to himself as he walked toward the town hall. The building had a white-painted facade comprising a square arch and fluted columns with elaborate windows. The same white stone or plaster decorated the bell tower. It faced a square backed by a garden of hedges and shrubs, with shade provided by a few trees.

  Up the steps and through the grand entrance, he walked through a tiled hall, decorated with portraits and aerial photographs of what Cade thought was Burford. A sign pointed him to the sub-basement floor and the town library. It was large, appearing to occupy the entire floor space of the building above. Warm electric lights, hidden behind broad plastic panels to diffuse the light, stood in to enhance the inadequate windows. The floor was carpeted and the shelves were labeled with colored cards at the end of each row.

  Cade looked. He couldn’t say when he had last visited a library, and the reference system used left him lost until he saw the pattern. He had never been a fan of reading for pleasure. Work was a different matter. He could lose himself in criminology journals or forensics papers for hours. But five minutes with a book sent him to sleep. He realized he would not find anything useful without asking for help.

  A brief conversation with the elderly librarian working at the main counter saw him set up at the microfilm desk. A slim notebook sat on the table next to his right hand. He began looking through the archived copies of local newspapers for references to the name Dexter. It wasn’t as complex as he expected. Only five local papers covered the Flint and neighboring Locklin and Fox County areas. Of those, one had been produced in Burford until 1972. The librarian had been proud of the Burford Public Library’s complete collection of the five dailies which had historically operated in the three counties. One of the first references he found was a story about the extension of the freight railroad which serviced the Shell’s Ridge mica mine. He glanced at a reproduced map of the railroad route.

  He then followed the first of several references to the Dexters. Henry Dexter had been on trial for orchestrating liquor smuggling. Then references to the collapse of the trial as key witnesses changed their testimonies. That had been July 1, 1927. Henry Dexter had been twenty-seven years old. Franklin Dexter was mentioned as having come home from France in 1944, having been wounded. He was noted as being a resident of Burford and given a hero’s welcome. On November 5, 1955, a further mention, again in a police bulletin, on a suicide. A Burford sawmill employee named Franklin Dexter, a former war hero, threw himself onto the tracks of the Burford-Tattleboro freight railway line. He was survived by his wife, Nancy, and two-year-old son, William.There was a black-and-white picture of the railroad.

  Something about it tugged at his memory. He scrutinized it for a moment, wondering how a sixty-year-old photograph of Burford, New Hampshire, should appear familiar to him.

  Cade glanced at his watch. Three forty-five. He would need to head to Beth’s place soon to make sure he was home for Madison. His head ached from the blurring of the reader as he scanned through the pages. He struggled to keep his eyes focused. Five more minutes. Not much point looking through the material covering Billy Dexter’s childhood years. He was more interested in what the man had done. He picked out a roll of microfilm labeled 1974 and loaded it.

  Five minutes became fifteen. His phone chimed as it reached four o’clock. The librarian looked up, her face scandalized by the modern intrusion into the peace of her domain. Cade silenced it. He finished the last few issues of December 1972. That’s when he found it.

  11

  “Hey, Charlie, it’s Tommy.” Cade sat in his truck outside the library. A fresh cigarette occupied the corner of his mouth, unlit. One day in a row so far.

  “Tommy, what do you know?” came the answer.

  “Brandon was attacked last night. We think it was the Dexters. Beth and I found him unconscious in the garage.”

  Charlie swore.

  “They took him to the County General Hospital. But listen, I need your help.”

  “Anything I can do.”

  “What do you know about Michael Orsini?”

  “Orsini? Sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.”

  “He was murdered in December 1972. They recovered his body downriver in Chesterfield.”

  “Murdered? Yeah, I remember something about that. Yeah, Italian—he ran a trucking business out of Burford. Washington Street I think it was. Orsini Transportation. Shell’s Ridge used some of his trucks for local supply runs when I worked there. What do you want to know about him?”

  “I’m doing research into the Dexters. That was the first murder recorded in Burford in over ten years.”

  “Yeah, I remember now. Whole town was in shock about it.”

  “Any connection to Billy Dexter?”

  “Not that I know of. I don’t even think they were friends at all.”

  “What happened to the trucking business?”

  “Kept running for a few years, then it shut down. Guy
who ran it was called Jack Webb, a local guy. Used to be a truck driver, but he liked liquor too much. Got laid off. Big surprise as he had the money to buy it, but I guess there was a bank somewhere auctioning it off for peanuts after Orsini died.”

  “Do you remember what happened to Jack Webb?”

  “He died. Got drunk one night and fell off the Weaver Bridge. Grey runs pretty strong down there. Current got him. Don’t think anyone was surprised when it happened. Long time coming.”

  Cade hastily scribbled notes. None of it led back to the Dexters. But something tickled the back of his mind, refusing to give up on the theory that had been forming there.

  “Do you know what happened to the trucking business after that? They’re not still operating, right?”

  “No. Got locked up. Then, just disappeared. Guess it got carved up by the creditors. Whole place got dismantled. There was a vacant lot there for about a year, as I recall. There’s a bar there now. Got some cute—ass name like… yeah, that’s it, the Elbow Room. Up on Ranson Avenue, north end of town.”

  “Okay, Charlie. Thanks for the background. I’ve got to go.”

  “You’ll let me know how Brandon is doing?”

  “Soon as I know.”

  “Anything I can do for Beth and Madison, you call me.”

  “Sure will. Thanks, Charlie.”

  Cade hung up and dialed Rissa. It finally went to voicemail. He sent a text.

  Check out Orsini Transportation. Probably registered in Burford, New Hampshire, or close by and operating up to around 1972. Anything you can get.

  He put the phone down onto the passenger seat and leaned against the steering wheel, arms folded. Henry Dexter was a bad guy. Franklin a war hero, killed himself. And then there was Billy Dexter. Head of a family into protection rackets and who knew what else. Jimmy and Bobby worked for the old man, running the enforcement crew. His gut told him Billy Dexter had something to do with the death of Orsini. A trucking firm would make a perfect front for money laundering. He started the truck and pulled away from town hall, heading back to Beth’s house.