The office was small, about nine by nine feet. I've measured enough rooms for party arrangements that I can usually size up a space pretty accurately by sight. There was a desk cluttered with papers, two cabinets along one wall, and a closed-circuit monitor facing the desk, with a live feed from the truck bays below. I watched the action for a moment, before taking a look in the cabinets. In the second cabinet, on the middle shelf, were two sets of videotapes, each numbered one through thirty-one. One set seemed to be for the garage; the other, for the warehouse. Apparently, security tapes were kept for a month before being taped over. I couldn't believe the company hadn't shifted to storing security footage digitally. But then my father-in-law is too much of a cheapskate to buy a new anything if the old one was still working, however inefficiently.
I also couldn't believe the FBI hadn't already confiscated the tapes. I figured maybe they had reviewed the tapes and had found nothing of interest. At any rate, I wasn't going to question my good luck. Unfortunately, four tapes were all I could possibly cram into my purse. Poor planning on my partâwhich was kind of embarrassing for a professional planner. I grabbed two tapes of garage footage and two tapes of warehouse footage covering the two days preceding the discovery of the bodies.
I checked the monitor but couldn't spot Ralph on the feed. I walked to the door, shut off the light, and eased the door open a crack. Not hearing anything, I stepped out and gently pulled the door shut, then checked the handle to make sure the door had locked behind me. I walked toward the stairs, anxious to make my escape, and ran smack into Ralph as he stepped out of his office.
“'Scuse me, Mrs. McKay. Are you okay?”
“Fine, fine. It was totally my fault. Should watch where I'm going.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
I paused, frozen for a moment, thinking I had been caught. Then I remembered I had said I was picking up something for Larry Joe.
“Oh, yes, I did. Thanks,” I said, patting my purse.
Although Ralph must have thought I'd been drinking by my goofy behavior, he was too polite to say so. As soon as the top of his head had disappeared from sight down the stairs, I stepped into his office, dropped the keys in the drawer, and left the building before anyone else had a chance to speak to me.
Luckily, we still have an old VCR hooked up in the den for VHS tapes that Larry Joe can't bear to part withâmostly of his high school football games. I poured a glass of iced tea, opened a bag of pretzels, and settled in for some serious reviewing of the days leading up to the murders.
I started with the first garage tape so I could see what Darrell had been up to. Since I didn't find him in the early part of the tape, I realized he must have worked the three-to-eleven shift that day. I fast-forwarded to the shift change and spotted him coming in. After watching Darrell perform the same boring maintenance routine a couple of times, I fast-forwarded, scanning for any new people coming into view. There were periods of time when I couldn't see Darrell, such as when he was working under the truck in the pit area.
He talked for a few minutes with a guy named Joeâthe patches on their coveralls gave me their names. Darrell and Joe left for a few minutes, for a cigarette break or whatever. A few minutes after he came back from his break, Darrell got into a scuffle with a guy named Rudy. There was no sound on the tape, but it seemed like Rudy had taken some of Darrell's tools and Darrell was ticked off about it. There was some shoulder shoving and chest-thumping, but the two men didn't actually come to blows.
At the end of Darrell's shift, I decided I was ready for a break, too. I made a pot of coffee and grabbed a half-full pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream from the freezer. I was going to need significant quantities of caffeine and sugar to stay alert, or even awake, through the rest of the tapes.
I saw Duane pass through the garage a few times. Unlike his brother, who spent the majority of his time working in the same garage bay, Duane wandered around, performing various maintenance and janitorial duties. At least while he was on-screen, he didn't talk to anyone and no one talked to him.
I switched over to the first warehouse tape and had just about despaired of watching trucks getting loaded when one of the truck drivers caught my eye. I backed up and replayed that section of the tape to get a better look at a shaved head with deep-set eyes and no discernible eyebrows. Unfortunately, the guy didn't have a name patch on his shirt. Wondering if this could be Bobo, I let the tape continue playing at regular speed, and suddenly I had my answer. I saw a man in the background climbing out of the passenger side of the truck cab. I freeze-framed the image. It was definitely Ray Franklin.
Chapter 9
I knocked on the door of Di's trailer, busting to share my newfound information. She came to the door, apparently just out of the shower, her hair still damp and infused with the aroma of lavender. She was wearing jeans and a ZZ Top T-shirt.
“Hey,” she said, stepping back so I could pass through. “Isn't it about feeding time for Larry Joe?”
“He had to drive down to Huntsville to pick up a load.”
“Did you eat yet?”
“Nothing but pretzels and ice cream.”
“I can't top that, but I do have a couple of low-fat TV dinners in the freezer.”
“Thanks. It probably wouldn't hurt me to eat something a little more nutritious than ice cream.”
Di peeled the corners back on the frozen entrées and stuck them in the microwave. I sat down at the kitchen table and waited impatiently.
“Di, I've got so much to tell you. I don't know where to start.”
“I've got some news for you, too,” Di said. “You first, since you look like you're about to burst,” she added, grabbing a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge and pouring a glass for each of us.
“Okay. I now know that Bobo and Ray Franklin were at McKay's two days before the Farrell boys' bodies were discovered. Bobo was driving a truck and may or may not have had a legitimate reason to be there, but Ray was just along for the ride.”
“Somebody saw them?”
“
I
saw them. On the surveillance tapes from the company security office, which I kind of . . . borrowed this afternoon.”
“Borrowed?”
“Well, I intend to put them back. Eventually. The point is, whatever Duane and Darrell were mixed up inâprobably the drugs they found on that truck in OklahomaâRay and Bobo are involved, too.” I paused for a moment. “What's your news?” I asked.
“Dave told me Professor Shapiro is in the hospital.”
“What happened?”
“Somebody broke into his house and stole that Confederate money he had in the briefcase. In the process, they fractured his skull.”
“Oh, no. That poor, sweet little man,” I said. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I hope so. Dave didn't have any details,” Di said. “Can you think of anything we can do to catch this SOB before anybody else gets hurt?”
As I pondered Di's question, my cell phone rang. “It's Larry Joe. I better take it.”
“Hey, honey. Have you made it to Huntsville already? I didn't expect to hear from you untilâ”
Larry Joe interrupted. “I haven't made it to Huntsville. Ralph just called and said the FBI came late this afternoon with a warrant for our security tapes. But when he took them into the office to get them, some of the tapes were missing. Ones from around the time of the murders.”
I held my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But, apparently, Ralph hadn't mentioned my visit to the garage today.
“As if things didn't already look bad enough for us, now this. Liv, would you mind checking on Dad first thing in the morning? I'll get back as quick as I can. It'll probably be at least mid-afternoon before I can make it in.”
“Okay, honey. I'll look in on your dad. But don't you try to drive all the way back without getting at least some sleep.”
“I can't pick up the container until four thirty in the morning, so I'll catch a few z's before then. Love ya. Tell Di I said hello.”
My complexion must have matched the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, because Di immediately asked what was wrong.
“Larry Joe said the FBI came to get the surveillance tapes and found some of them missing.”
“Oh, crap.”
The microwave beeped, coinciding with my complete loss of appetite.
“Liv, you've got to put those tapes back somehow.”
“I can't do that. Even if I could get away with it, it would just make things look worse for Larry Joe and his dadâlike the tapes had been altered or switched out or something. But I have to do something. Maybe I should tell Sheriff Dave about Bobo.”
“Tell him what? That Ray Franklin has a truck driver friend named Bobo who looks like Uncle Fester?”
“I guess you're right,” I said. “By the way, did Dave mention anything more about their big stakeout last night?”
“Unfortunately, no. And I did try to get him to talk. But when he gets into his tight-lipped official lawman mode, you couldn't force information out of him with a cattle prod.”
“Yeah, I know. But . . . ,” I said with a pregnant pause as the cogs in my brain started churning. “I'm sure you'd have better luck getting information from Deputy Ted, if you just tried.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “There's only so far I'm willing to go for a friend, and going out with Ted Horton is above and beyond the call of duty.”
“I'm not suggesting you sleep with him or even go on a real date. But you could talk to him after your yoga class, let him walk you to your car, maybe get a cup of coffee. You know, just a little harmless flirtation.”
“Absolutely not,” she said. “Why don't
you
indulge in a little harmless flirtation with Ted to get the information?”
“Because I'm married. And flirtation doesn't look harmless when you're a married woman, especially in a small town.”
Di's lips were clamped shut, like those of a child refusing a spoonful of medicine, and I could tell it was useless to pursue the matter any further. But I also knew I had to figure out some way to make up for the predicament I'd put Larry Joe and Daddy Wayne in by taking the security tapes.
“Di, did Dave mention which hospital Dr. Shapiro is in?”
“Baptist, I think. Why?”
“I'd like to go visit him. I can't stand the thought of him laid up with a cracked skull. You want to go with me?”
“Yeah, I do. I'd like to see how he's doing.”
“Good. Let's go. And after we get back, I'm going to finish watching those security tapes if it takes all night.”
After grabbing a couple of bottled waters for the trip, we took my SUV. I drove the back roads to the interstate, then finally exited onto Walnut Grove Road. Baptist Hospital, known as Baptist East until the downtown hospital was torn down, is located on the eastern edge of Memphis, which borders the upscale suburb of Germantown.
We stopped at the information desk in the lobby to ask for the professor's room number. I was relieved to hear he was in a regular room rather than in intensive care, partly because being in the ICU would have meant we couldn't get in to see him after driving all the way out there, but mostly because it suggested that he wasn't in critical condition.
We took the elevator to the third floor and tapped on his door, which was slightly ajar. We said hello, and I was worried for a moment when Dr. Shapiro's eyes didn't register a glimmer of recognition for the two women he'd shared dinner and a long car ride with just a couple of days before. But then he reached over to the bedside table to retrieve his glasses.
With his specs on, he immediately said, “Ah, Mrs. McKay, Miss Souther, this is a pleasant surprise.” His head was bandaged on the back and along one side. He seemed a little drowsy but was lucid.
Di pulled over the side chair, and I sat down on the end of his bed. We inquired about his condition, and he explained that it was just a hairline fracture and that, luckily, there was no swelling in his brain.
“I was quite fortunate, from what I'm told,” he said. “The intruder struck me on the back of the head, and I fell to the floor, remaining in an unconscious and semiconscious state until my housekeeper discovered me the following morning.”
He described to us how someone had broken into his home during the night on Thursday, the same night we had driven him home. He was in bed when he heard a thud, and got up to investigate.
“I thought it was my cat, Henry. His eyesight is very poor, and sometimes he bumps into and knocks things over. I caught a glimpse of a shadow on the wall out of the corner of my eye, and the next thing I knew, I was lying prone on the floor.”
“Did you get any impression of the intruder, like how tall or heavy he was?” I said.
“No,” he said. “It was dark, and I got only a brief glance at a distorted shadow. The burglar absconded with the two Confederate banknotes the sheriff had given me for authentication. Oddly, nothing else was stolen. I feel badly that the artifacts Sheriff Davidson entrusted to my care are now missing.”
“You have no cause to feel bad,” Di said. “I can assure you that the sheriff, and everyone else, is concerned only about you getting better.”
We chatted with the professor for a few minutes more, until he seemed to be getting tired. We asked if we could bring him anything or if he'd like us to check on his cat.
“No. That's very kind,” he said. “But Mrs. Bonds, my housekeeper, took Henry home with her to look after him. And the nurses here are taking very good care of me.”
He was so cute, I just wanted to tweak his cheeks, but I gave his hand a squeeze instead.
On the way to the elevators, we walked behind a male patient who was slowly pushing his IV bag on a pole down the hall, mooning us off and on as his hospital gown flapped open and shut.
“That man had more hair on his ass than on the top of his head,” Di said matter-of-factly as soon as the elevator doors had fully closed.
We stopped by the ladies' room and bought a couple of Diet Cokes from the vending machine in the lobby before getting into the car for the trek home. I felt I needed a shot of caffeine to stay alert on the road.
“Well, it looks like the professor is going to be okay,” Di said. “He looked pitiful, though, with his head wrapped up in bandages.”
“Yeah. Bless his heart. But it could have been a lot worse,” I said. “There's a good chance that whoever conked Dr. Shapiro over the head and stole that Confederate money is the same one who killed Darrell and Duane.”
“We don't know that,” Di said.
“The professor said the banknotes Dave had given him were the only things that were stolen. Your run-of-the-mill burglar would have taken electronics or cash. And Dr. Shapiro is an expert in Confederate weapons, so he's likely to have some antique firearms in his house, too. But nothing like that was taken. It doesn't make sense, unless the Confederate bills were specifically what the thief was looking for.”
“You could be right, but I don't see how the thief, or anybody else, could have known that he had the Confederate money. Besides Dave and Ted and us, who even knew?”
I took a gulp of Diet Coke and mulled that over for a minute. “I can think of only a couple of possible answers to that questionâand both give me a creepy feeling.”
“What are you thinking?” Di said.
“Neither of us told anybody, so only someone who was in that storage unit when Dr. Shapiro was looking over the artifacts, or someone who was watching it while he was there, could have known he had the Confederate money.”
“You know as well as I do, Dave or Ted wouldn't hurt Dr. Shapiro. Dave didn't have to let him take the money with him to begin with.”
“I know it wasn't Dave or Ted. But remember what Dave said when they first discovered the stuff in the storage unit? One of the reserve deputies who's involved in Civil War reenactments was the one who told Dave the stuff looked genuine, too expensive for the Farrells to have bought themselves.”
“That's right. I'd forgotten about that,” Di said. “I wonder who that was and how long he's been a reserve deputy. It's scary to think Dave could have a thief or maybe even a murderer on his staff.”
“The alternative might be even scarier. If there was somebody watching the action from a safe distance, say through binoculars, they wouldn't have known Dr. Shapiro's name or address.”
“Which means they probably followed us when we drove him home that night,” Di said, a note of uneasiness in her voice.
“Exactly.”
“What should we do?” Di said.
“I'm going home to watch the rest of day two on the tapes to see what else I can find out. And tomorrow I'm putting Ray Franklin under surveillance. He was close to the Farrells, and he was at McKay's with Bobo. I think it's time to see what he's up to.”