“Just before they took him away…” Rosie broke down, reacting as if she’d never see her father again. She pulled a wrinkled, folded piece of paper from her purse. “He handed this to me. He said you gave it to him?”

I could tell immediately that it was the bank record he’d taken from my folder. I started to clarify for Rosie the manner by which Larry Esterman had acquired the page, but she didn’t need any more grief. (There it was again, that fear of bringing displeasure to anyone I cared about.)

I unfolded the sheet. Larry had written all over it, in bold, possibly angry strokes. He’d circled a row of numbers on the top right of the page and written off-shore; he’d drawn a box around an alphanumeric code on the top left and written Cannon. A yellow highlighter marked large dollar amounts in the middle column.

Apparently, Larry had done some research and had determined that not only David but Barry Cannon was also profiting from the fraudulent scheme.

He could have just asked me, instead of stealing my property. Then he might not be in police custody.

It must have galled Larry that the ringleaders of the terrible stunt his daughter had suffered from were raking in money, profiting from an illegal scheme that also caused his own employer to lose contracts. If David Bridges had been shot instead of bludgeoned to death, Larry would probably have been arrested instead of simply brought in for questioning.

Rosie had been watching me as I perused the sheet of paper and speculated on its meaning.

“Does it mean anything to you?” she asked me.

“Not really,” I said.

I’d given some thought in the past couple of days to the folder that had landed on the seat of my car. I was convinced that Ben Dobson, the ambitious Duns Scotus supervisor who worked for the late David Bridges, had put it there. I figured that even though his boss was dead by then, Ben had wanted to bring down everyone connected to the scheme, without having to get involved directly. I wondered who his Maddie-like hacker was. I wished I could contact him to tell him his work was likely the last straw of evidence needed to bring the perpetrators to justice.

And to ask him what he was doing in the Joshua Speed Woods after David’s memorial service. Maybe he was looking for more evidence of the fraud. Or maybe he hadn’t lied to me after all, about answering nature’s call.

Chapter 24

My cell phone rang, showing Skip’s caller ID. I didn’t think Rosie needed to hear even my side of the conversation, so I stepped outside to answer.

A majestic set of steps led from the sidewalk to the plaza level of the police department building. From this vantage point, I could see the entire main shopping district of our town, and as far as Rutledge Center where I could picture Maddie working furiously on her project and looking forward to being where I was now.

Fortunately, according to the oversize digital display in front of the civic center buildings, the temperature had dropped to a mere eighty-two degrees and I wasn’t too uncomfortable.

“How come you’re being patient there in the waiting area and not beating down my door?” Skip asked.

“How come you know where I am?” Or at least, where I’d been when he rang.

“Duh,” he said, echoing Maddie. I needed to break down and adopt that handy syllable (I couldn’t call it a word) myself.

“What can you tell me about Larry Esterman?” I asked.

“He’s on his way downstairs now, but he’s wearing an ankle bracelet while we figure it all out.”

“You think he’s a flight risk? I doubt the man has been out of town for decades.”

“He did attempt to assault a man.”

“Uh-huh. And with a deadly weapon, right?”

“Not if it wasn’t loaded.”

“What?”

“Esterman claims the gun wasn’t loaded, that he doesn’t even own any bullets. In fact, we searched both his and Rosie’s houses and found no ammunition, or even a record that he’d ever bought any.”

“He owned a gun but never loaded it?”

“It appears that way. As I said, we’re sorting things out.”

“So, you don’t think he killed David?” I whispered, though there was no one within earshot. The only people in the vicinity were three smokers who stood on the lower steps of the building in a tiny spot of shade that spilled over from a tree on the sidewalk.

“You said you have a couple of things to share with me?” Skip said, leaving me hanging as to whether Larry was considered a suspect by the LPPD.

Larry had dropped off my own private list. What killer marches over to confront another potential victim with an unloaded gun? Strangely, even before I knew the gun wasn’t loaded, I’d lost interest in Larry as a suspect-he seemed more like a desperate old man with the means and the motive, but not the will to do anything as horrible as commit murder.

I imagined Larry devising a con, much like the one perpetrated on his daughter thirty years ago-let Barry think he was about to be shot, then say something like, “April Fool,” and walk away. Too bad Barry didn’t appreciate the turnabout.

Now I was faced with a decision about talking to Skip without Maddie.

He’d called me; he’d asked me to share. I ran through my defense to my granddaughter, who’d be getting out of class in a half hour.

“I’ll be right up,” I said.

I reentered the building by the side door on the east end of the plaza, to avoid Rosie and/or her father. I expected to hear repercussions later.

On the way to Skip’s office, I called Beverly and asked if she could pick up Maddie at the Rutledge Center and bring her to the police station.

“Absolutely,” she said, with more gusto than usual. I knew she’d been feeling bad that she’d let me down by not showing up for late night atrium visits. I hadn’t had a chance to tell her that for two nights in a row she’d been replaced by murder suspects.

Skip was waiting for me at the head of the interior stairs and escorted me back to his cubicle.

“No cookies, I suppose,” he said. I shot him a “naughty boy” look. “We need to get this case over with so you can get back on schedule.” I knew he was aware that his grin would soften me.

“Your mom will be bringing Maddie by in about a half hour,” I said. “Your cousin once removed has some things she wants to tell you herself.”

“No problem. And I have a big surprise for her. Lavana is going to give her a special tour of the building. How’s that?”

“She’ll love it.”

“So, just tell me everything and I’ll act surprised later, okay?”

How could I do that to my granddaughter?

Easily, it turned out.

After Skip made a very brief trip to the cold-drink machine for both of us, I started my report on the interview with our Duns Scotus housekeeper, Marina. Maddie hadn’t been too involved in that aspect of my snooping, except to translate my overblown language into ordinary English.

“You just happened to stop by a hotel in San Francisco two days after you’d checked out?”

“We missed it. But, the point is, isn’t Cheryl’s story revealing?”

“It is.”

“And you’ll file it under ‘things that tend to clear Rosie Norman’?”

“I will. What else?”

I felt underappreciated. I’d uncovered the mystery of the anonymous caller who directed the police to the location of Rosie’s trashed scene. I expected more. But I wasn’t eleven years old, so I moved on.

“There’s the matter of the RFP material and contract awards.” I told Skip what Maddie had uncovered, how David had been granting Mellace an award on one day, and asking for competitive bids the day after. “You may not even need all this if Barry has spelled it all out for you.”

“Not true. We need something solid like this. Barry clammed up. My guess is that he thinks he can contain what he told you.”