Chapter 20
Twenty
H eadlights cut through the night, adding to the already illuminated scene at the farm. Max glanced toward the road to see a dark sedan come up the driveway. He assumed it was Agent Dye.
Once the shock of finding human remains wore off, he’d called the man, then the local police. The county sheriffs had been here for a couple of hours, roping things off and separating him from Margot so they could ask them questions.
She leaned against a cruiser twenty yards away, huddled into herself.
A wave of emotion washed over him, making his heart ache. He clenched his teeth. All he wanted to do was go to her and hold her.
The sedan rolled to a stop behind the cruiser. A moment later, the engine cut and the driver got out.
Agent Dye paused near the hood of his car, assessing the scene.
Max studied the agent.
He was young. Barely thirty, from the look of him. But intelligent. When they’d dealt with him earlier at the banks and at the jeweler’s, he asked great questions and quickly made connections between bits of information.
Dye’s gaze landed on Max.
The agent’s expression held no anger. Just a curiousness. Max wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. On the one hand, it could be useful. It could make the man tenacious and determined to get justice. But it could put the Brigade’s investigation in jeopardy. Most of what they did was aboveboard, but there was a certain bit of gray area in which they operated. Agent Dye’s tenacity could force them out of things entirely. As much as Max wanted to be part of finding out what happened to Tad, he didn’t want to go to jail for obstruction, nor did he want to put Asher and the others in that position, either.
Dye’s attention shifted to the sergeant approaching. The two men spoke for a moment, then Dye followed him to the area behind the shed.
Max crossed his arms, continuing to study him.
The agent pulled a penlight from his coat and aimed it at the ground. Max watched him crouch, turn to speak to the crime scene technician nearby, then rise and put his light away. When he turned away, he headed toward Max, his strides determined.
Dye reached him, pausing several feet away. His light blue eyes studied Max.
Having perfected the art of nonchalance before this man was out of grade school, Max kept his arms crossed and stared right back.
Finally, Dye spoke. “What made you think it was a good idea to come out here?”
“Did you really expect us not to?”
A corner of the agent’s mouth twitched. “All right. Did you touch anything?”
“No. We walked around the house, then the barn and the shed. I noticed the greener prairie grass, and when we shined a light on it, we saw the skull. I called you, then the local police.”
“Do you know who it is?”
Max arched an eyebrow. “Why would I?”
Dye shrugged one shoulder. “You know a lot of other things about this investigation. Agent Gallagher mentioned he agreed to work with you and your ‘team.’” He made air quotes.
Annoyance tickled Max’s mind. “Perhaps you should drop the ‘I’m the agent’ attitude, then. Margot and I aren’t the bad guys.”
With a quick puff of air through his nostrils, Dye stuffed his hands in his pockets and glanced away briefly. “What has your team learned about the victim?”
“Nothing.”
Dye threw up his hands. “Come on, man. Why are you being difficult? We worked together all afternoon without a problem.”
It was Max’s turn to look away. “Sorry. I don’t much like being questioned as though I murdered someone.” He tipped his head toward the deputies milling about the property. “They separated us as soon as they got here, then grilled us about who we were, who that is”—he nodded toward the remains—“and why we were here. Over and over again.”
“That’s standard protocol.”
“Doesn’t mean I like it. But to answer your question, I don’t know who the victim is. It’s possible it’s the property owner, Dale Conroy, though.”
Something akin to admiration crossed Dye’s face. “You know who owns this place already?”
“It was a simple records search. It’s owned by Dale and Marie Conroy. Marie’s dead. Has been for five years. Her husband has an active driver’s license that comes back to this address. He’s not here, and it looks like no one has been for a while. That could be him.”
“There’s more than a few months of neglect here, though.” Dye circled a finger in the air. “Forensics said whoever that is has been dead less than a year. Just in their preliminary examination, they found small amounts of tissue on the bones.”
Max shrugged. “Like I said, it’s just a theory. But maybe inside the house there will be something that tells us more.”
“Maybe. What else do you know?”
“That’s it.”
“Nothing that connects the Conroys to Dr. Gaultier? Not her.” He nodded toward Margot. “Her ex.”
“No. Not so far.”
Dye rolled his lips in, pressing them together. “All right. Hang out here for a bit. I want to talk to the sergeant again. See where we are on a warrant to search the place.”
“They have a son. In St. Louis. Maybe see if Mr. Conroy’s there and get permission to search the house? It’d be quicker than a warrant.”
Amusement lit Dye’s face. “You got a name and number for the son?”
“I can get it.”
“How about you do that while I go talk to the sergeant?”
“Can I stand with Margot now?”
The agent’s gaze turned to her. She was still huddled at the back of the cruiser, watching the forensic team comb the grass for evidence.
“Sure. Just stay visible.”
“Not a problem.” Max dropped his arms and started toward Margot.
In moments, he reached her. “Hey.”
She jumped, letting out a soft yelp. “Hey. Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
He touched her arm. “I can tell. You all right?”
Inhaling a deep breath through her nose, she nodded. “Yeah. What are you doing over here? The police wanted us to stay separate.”
“Dye’s here.” He nodded toward the agent.
Margot turned.
“We had a little chat. I need to call Asher again.” He pulled his phone out. Taking a quick glance around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, he dialed and put the call on speaker so Margot could hear.
“Hey. All done?” Asher asked.
“Not quite. Margot and I found some skeletal remains.”
Only a slight crackle on the line for several beats told Max the call was still active.
“Come again? Hell,” Asher muttered. “Are you serious?”
“I wish I wasn’t. Anyway, the cops and Agent Dye are here. Can you get me a name and phone number for Dale Conroy’s son?”
“Sure. Give me a sec.”
Soft noises came over the line as Asher moved around. They heard the low murmur of Esther’s voice, then Asher’s reply that everything was fine. A moment later, typing sounded.
“Okay. Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Another pause came over the line, then, “The son’s name is Edward. I’ll text you the number and address. Do you have any idea who the body is? Is it the owner, Dale?”
“We don’t know. Forensics said whoever it is has been dead less than a year. My guess is sometime over the summer. He or she’s covered in prairie grass, which is much greener than anywhere else.”
“Damn. Okay. Keep me posted, yeah? I’ll help however I can. I just sent that info.”
A banner appeared at the top of the screen with a text from Asher.
“It came through. Can you run a search for a connection between the Conroys and Tad?”
“Already am, but I’ll double down on it.”
“Great. Thanks, Asher.” Max glanced around.
“Yep.”
Dye and the sergeant approached.
“Gotta go. Bye.”
“Later.”
Max hung up. He cast a quick look at Margot, whose expression looked rather pinched. Reaching out, he took her hand briefly and squeezed it reassuringly. Tad’s death was growing more complicated by the second.
“You get that info?” Dye asked.
“Yep.” Max switched to his texts and opened the one from Asher. “You got a pen and paper?”
Dye pulled a notebook from his pocket. “Fire away.”
Max read off the information.
The agent’s mouth quirked upward as he finished writing. He shook his head, clicking his pen. “Whoever was on the end of that call, you need to persuade them to come work for the bureau.”
Max scoffed. “Even if I was so inclined, he never would.” Asher had been there and done that and had zero desire to ever do it again.
“He could do a lot of good on this side of the law.”
He held Dye’s gaze, silently telegraphing it was time to change the subject. “He does a lot of good right where he is.” Max tipped a finger at the notebook in the agent’s hand. “How about you call that number and find out if Dale Conroy is in St. Louis?”
The sergeant, who’d been standing there listening, arched an eyebrow at Max’s tone, but wisely stayed out of it.
Dye’s expression soured. He stared at Max for several seconds, then seemed to decide it wasn’t worth it to argue. Shaking his head, he took out his phone and dialed.
Max could hear the quiet buzz of the line ringing. It cut off after four rings, and he heard the low murmur of a man’s voice.
“Hello. I’m sorry to bother you. I’m trying to reach Dale Conroy.” Dye’s voice took on a friendly tone, the serious agent evaporating.
Straining to hear, Max leaned closer, but all he could hear was a muffled male voice.
“Oh, I see. I’m sorry to hear that. Mr. Conroy, my name is Agent Jeremiah Dye. I’m with the FBI. We have reason to believe your parents’ farm is connected to a case we’re working on. Now, I know your mother passed away several years ago, correct?”
Max heard the man utter a single syllable. It sounded like he said yes.
“And you said you haven’t had any contact with your dad since then. He’s not here, and we’re concerned about his well-being. The property is extremely rundown. Would you give us permission to conduct a welfare check and go inside the house and other buildings on the property?”
Max fought the urge to tap his foot while he waited on Dye to finish his conversation. The agent could have had the courtesy to put the call on speaker.
“Thank you. Would you like me to let you know if we find him?”
Dye’s eyebrows shot up, and he shook his head. “All right. I guess if you hear from me again, you’ll know. Thank you for your time. Have a nice evening.” He hung up.
“Well?” Max arched a brow.
“Mr. Conroy and his father are not on good terms. He told me they haven’t spoken since his mother died and that the only way he wants me to call him back is if it’s to tell him the old man’s dead.”
Max let out a low whistle.
“Damn,” the sergeant said. “That’s cold.”
“I’m sure he has his reasons. In any case, he gave us permission to conduct a welfare check. I’ll keep the warrant coming, but this might at least give us a place to start. Let’s go round up a few of your deputies. No pictures, though. Not unless we find another body. Anything else will have to wait until my warrant comes through.”
“Understood. I’ll go grab a few men and meet you at the back door.”
“Thank you.”
With a nod, the sergeant sauntered away.
Dye turned to Max. “I’m sorry. I can’t invite you inside until we have the warrant, and the forensics team has a chance to conduct their investigation.”
“I figured. All I ask is that you tell us if you see anything suspicious.”
“I can do that.” Dye backed away. “Hang here. I’ll be back.” Turning, he strode toward the house.
Max blew out a breath and scrubbed his hands over his face and then through his hair. “This is nuts.”
A mirthless laugh escaped Margot’s lips. “Tell me about it. I thought I knew Tad. None of this—including the way he left me—feels like anything he would do.”
“Maybe whoever that is out there”—he nodded toward the shed—“will give us a clue as to why he did what he did.” Extending an arm, he tugged her closer to envelop her in a hug.
“I hope so,” she murmured against his chest, her head snuggled under his chin. “I’m tired of all the drama.”
“Me too.” He placed a soft kiss on top of her head. Deep down, he yearned to be back in Costa Rica, this woman tucked into his side while they watched Em and Lily play in the sunshine. He just wanted all this to be a distant memory.
Thirty minutes passed while they waited on the police to coordinate with each other and walk through the house. When they emerged from behind the building, the scowl on Agent Dye’s face put Max’s senses on alert.
He nudged Margot, who now rested next to him against the cruiser. “They found something.”
“What?”
He didn’t need to look at her to hear the frown in her voice.
“How do you know?”
“Dye’s face. That look says it all.” He took her hand. “Come on.”
They met the agent in a pool of light under the saltpeter lights the crime scene unit set up.
“Is it another body?” Max asked.
“No.” Dye ran a hand through his short hair. “There’s no sign of Dale Conroy. But there was a bag of money in plain view on the kitchen table.”
Max blinked several times before his brain processed that. “A bag of money? Like banded bills?”
“Yeah. Whoever that is”—he pointed to where forensics still worked by the shed—“they weren’t killed for the cash.”