S. Tooley - When the dead speak

“Abby was nice enough to take me out to Alex’s house. He finished repairing my bracelet.”

Avery smiled wearily and stood up. “We really should get going. Our plane is waiting.”

“Thank you for hosting the tea, Dear,” Nancy said to Abby.

“My pleasure.” Abby turned and clasped Avery’s hand.

Sam winced at the sight of Avery’s hand in Abby’s. Sam’s powers were strongest with the dead, but Abby’s were with the living. Sometimes a touch could tell Abby a lot, sometimes nothing. Sam didn’t see any reaction on Abby’s face.

By eight o’clock in the evening, Jake and Frank had completed the investigation of a homicide at Stateline Liquors. Beat cops had found the nineteen-year-old stock boy four blocks away still carrying the Glock 9mm. A homicide once a month on State Street wasn’t unusual for Chasen Heights.

“You didn’t have to give ALL the cookies to Janet. You could at least have saved me one,” Frank moaned.

“I’m sure Abby has more at home. Quit whining.”

“This kid better do some fast confessing. I don’t plan on spending all night dancin’ around with him.”

Jake’s cellular phone rang. It was Elvis calling to update him on the blurb he had placed in the Korean Today newspaper.

“Anything new?” Jake pulled out a notepad from his shirt pocket. “What time?” He scribbled five-thirty and underlined it. “Call me at the following number.” Jake gave him the phone number for the Suisse Hotel. He wanted the conference call to take place in Carl’s room.

“Elvis has something?” Frank asked after Jake hung up.

“He set up a conference call at five-thirty in the morning. There’s a woman in a town called Yongchou, South Korea, who recognized Hap’s picture.”

Sam walked up behind Tim Miesner, who was hunched over Sam’s keyboard. A fluff of youthful, sand-colored hair stood straight up on the top of his head. He stared intently at the screen through rimmed glasses.

“I’m sorry finals tied me up.”

“How did you do?”

Tim flashed a smile. “Straight A’s.” Sam patted him on the back. Tim pointed to the screen on her computer. “This lock and key icon on the menu is a tricky one.”

“Just take your time. I only need it yesterday.” Tim looked sharply at her. Sam smiled. She wrote CAIN on a sheet of paper. “Also, see if you can find anyone by this name with a rap sheet.”

“You mean like CIA or Interpol?” His eyes grew wide with anticipation.

She laughed and ran her hand through his hair. “Police, FBI, CIA, whatever your heart desires.” She stood at the door, “Don’t let anyone in but me.”

Jake and Frank walked in through the back door carrying their sportscoats. Frank’s tie was loosened. The front of Jake’s cream-colored knit shirt was damp.

“The motor pool better have the air conditioning in that car fixed by tomorrow or I’m just going to drive my own,” Frank said.

“How did you get in here?” Sam demanded.

Jake dangled his keys in front of Sam, then snapped them away before she had a chance to give them a closer look.

“You made a key to MY house?”

“Abby gave me a spare.” Jake tossed his sportscoat over the back of a kitchen chair.

Sam raised her hands in an I give up gesture. “I want you to listen to something.” She pressed the button on the tape player sitting on the counter.

The two men listened to Preston’s threatening call to Murphy, demanding that he close the case on Hap Wilson. But the most interesting call was to someone named Cain. All Preston had said was, “I have a job for you.”

“This was the morning before Abbott died. The morning before YOU,” Sam pointed an accusing finger at Jake, “removed the bug.”

“That’s reaching, Sam.” Jake pressed the STOP button. “ I have a job for you does NOT mean he hired a hit. The guy could be an auto mechanic.”

Frank checked his beeper, then carried Sam’s cordless phone to the dining room to call the office.

“Sam…” Tim stopped when he saw she had company.

Jake reached out a hand to him. “You must be the boy genius.”

“I guess so.” Tim turned back to Sam. “I’m going to need more time on that lock and key icon menu. And I better use my modem at home to access the CIA and Interpol files.”

Jake asked, “Am I going to want to know what you want with CIA files?”

“No,” Sam replied, steering Tim toward the back door. “He’s just going to run Cain’s name through the files.” Turning to Tim she asked, “How soon can I have something in my hands?”

“I have to write a program in order to cross-check the name. That may have to run all night. I’ll write the program right after dinner. As far as the menu, I’ll keep working on it. There may be a password within a password, and those can be tricky.”

“They can trace it, you know,” Jake said after Tim left. “And if the paper trail leads to Tim, you’re putting him in a compromising position.”

“Tim’s good. He never leaves tracks.”

“There’s always a first time.”

“If I remember correctly, you were the one breaking and entering with me the other night at Preston’s.”

“Self-preservation. You get busted, it reflects on the entire department.”

“Sam,” Frank called out. “What’s your fax number here?” Sam wrote the number down and gave it to Frank. Minutes later, Frank ended his call and joined them in the kitchen. “Jim Ludders, who’s investigating Abbott’s death in Dallas, said they would leave the case open for a couple of days in case we come up with anything on our end but, as far as their department is concerned, George Abbott died of natural causes.”

The fax machine started humming. They walked into the study and stood vigil over the paper-spitting machine.

“The family lawyer accessed Mr. Abbott’s safety deposit box,” Frank explained. “It contained only one item. Ludders wasn’t sure if it had any significance. But when a man bothers to rent a safety deposit box for over forty years…”

“Forty years?” Sam interrupted.

“Yes. And all he kept in it was one piece of jewelry.” Frank pulled the sheet out of the fax tray.

“Sonafabitch,” Jake whispered.

The picture was of a pin in the shape of a lightning bolt.

Carl opened the door to his hotel suite wearing a robe, his face covered in shaving cream. “I see you are still an early riser,” he told Jake.

“Old habits are hard to break.”

“Help yourself to coffee.” Carl returned to the bathroom. “Any luck on the survivors in Mushima Valley?” Carl called out.

“According to Lieutenant Colonel Joe Kelly, none of the survivors of his Task Force was conscious at the time so they wouldn’t be able to tell us anything anyway.”

Jake carried his cup of coffee to the large picture window. The sun was making a stunning appearance on the horizon, dwarfing the fishing boats and a large tanker off in the distance. He walked over to the dressing area where Carl was rinsing off the shaving cream.

“Murphy closed the Wilson case. He received the order from Preston.”

“I thought you removed that bug from Preston’s phone.” Carl hung his robe up in the closet and slipped into a light blue short-sleeved shirt.

“These were calls made before I removed the bug. Preston is bribing Murphy with the police commissioner post. Claims he can’t have any negative publicity in HIS town before his announcement.”

“What announcement?”

They moved to the couch in the living room. Jake told Carl that Preston was blackmailing Governor Avery Meacham. “I’m not at liberty to explain the extent of the blackmail. It has been neutralized, for now.”