Chapter 1 #2
Perry nodded. “I’d met her. I can’t say that I was friends with the man, but I had met him—with her—at a benefit for FDLE, our highway patrol, and our local police.
He was supportive of law enforcement. Determined, of course, that bad officers and agents be removed, but supportive of law enforcement.
He felt those working in law enforcement laid their lives on the line every day, and the bad eggs needed to be recognized and excised.
But in general, other officers working hard and following the law needed to be supported.
Anyway, Ainsley called me when she couldn’t reach him last night or this morning.
She was going to come to the house and call me from here if she still couldn’t reach him, but I told her to stay away.
I’d come over and pick up her key, and I’d check it all out and find out what was going on.
There was no answer at the house, no response on the phone.
I went in. Nothing was out of order. Like our killer, so it seems, I also wore gloves and moved with extreme care.
Anyway, when I couldn’t find him inside, I started to walk around outside. ”
“And you found these remains,” Grant said, a note of sympathy in his voice as he stared down at the ground, at the pile of ashes that covered almost all that remained of the man’s bones.
“Then again,” he said, looking at the medical examiner and asking, “do we know that these remains do belong to George Maynard?”
“There’s enough of the skull left for us to do dental identification, though, of course, we won’t be able to do anything about fingerprint identification. You can’t see it, but there are bones left, including the man’s skull. We’ll do what we can,” the ME, Doctor Amos McGrath, promised.
He was a man in his early or mid-fifties, serious and yet pleasant, a man who seemed well-versed in his chosen vocation.
“If we may begin?” he asked.
He didn’t seem to be sure whom he should be asking. Perry, of course, was the senior agent with the FDLE, but the feds were here, too.
“Are we set here?” Perry asked the others.
“We are,” Grant said, looking at Shelly. He appeared to be respecting the fact that they were to be in a partnership as he waited for her agreement.
She nodded in turn.
“I realize I’m the latecomer on this,” Grant said, “but I’d like to go back to the front of the house and get a mental visual on what happened when George Maynard got home.”
“That sounds fine,” Perry said. “In fact, if you wish, we can go through the house, now that the forensic teams have finished in there. George Maynard was a neat man, and it doesn’t appear that the house was trashed in any way.
Whoever did this didn’t seem to be after anything.
Other than George’s life,” he added quietly, looking downward.
“I’ll be quick,” Grant promised. “I just want to get a real lay of the land, so to speak.”
“Of course,” Perry agreed.
“I’ve been in,” Jackson told them. “You and Shelly go through with fresh eyes. I’ll be waiting in front with Perry to help if the ME or his team need any assistance.”
They walked back around the house. Grant was surging forward, and Shelly followed him. But as she did, she noted that the area near the porch seemed to have been slightly disturbed.
Of course. A man had been dragged through it.
And still, something there seemed to haunt her mind.
She turned back.
“Have you been in already?” Grant asked her.
“No. I arrived about twenty minutes before you did. Jackson was here. He’d met Perry as soon as possible, but I was coming in from the West Coast, so … You were right here in the area,” she said frowning. “Didn’t you set this whole thing in motion?”
He paused. They were in the parlor, a beautiful room with pieces of furniture that were either copies of nineteenth-century pieces or the real deal. A beautiful fireplace offered artistic moldings in stone. Archways led to other rooms.
And as Perry had told them, everything seemed to be exactly in place. George Maynard had kept the home impeccably clean and ordered.
“Finishing a case,” he told her. “Luckily, it did tie up yesterday. But there were a few interviews I had to finish and complete the inevitable paperwork. But I got it all moving as soon as Perry called me. He’s a good man, excellent in law enforcement.”
“I’m just curious. I mean, you called Jackson Crow, a man known for working unusual cases, cults, criminals who think they’re voodoo priests or priestesses or … Frankly, he’s known as a ghostbuster, more or less.”
He nodded, but didn’t look at her.
“This is a horrendous crime. I mean, the taking of any life is horrendous, but this was like a true champion was taken away from the world.” Shelly paused to draw in a deep breath.
“He was murdered in cold blood. Sadly, murders happen. In every corner of the world. And these days, forensic science has come a long way in helping any investigation. I believe Perry Banyan is a capable man—” Shelly began.
“You don’t want to work the case?” Grant interrupted.
“I didn’t say that. But it’s not suspected to be a cult case, a voodoo case—”
“Jackson Crow’s solve rate is the highest in the country,” Grant told her flatly. “And as you’ve surmised—”
“Yes. Perry is your good friend.”
“Apparently, Jackson has been watching you. So. Let’s do this. Let’s bring justice to a man who spent his life standing up for decency and the rights of others.”
She nodded. And she was pretty sure it was her own fault, but she was feeling a bit of hostility toward the man.
It was a beautiful house, arranged to feature antiquity, but with a modern bent.
The killer had gotten in; that much was obvious. How? The killer knew about George—and his house.
They went from room to room. Grant seemed focused on the entry beyond the mudroom.
“I think I’m going to study the door and porch area again,” she said simply, turning around to head out.
She’d experienced that strange feeling before; they weren’t seeing something.
They were missing something.
Outside, Jackson was speaking with Perry in front of the porch.
She walked over to join them.
“Agents!”
The call came from the medical examiner just as Shelly reached the men’s position in front of the house.
Dr. Amos McGrath appeared from around the corner.
“Agents, I’m sorry to ask, but we’re trying to get a sheet a bit deep beneath the remains to carefully take everything to the lab. If you’d be so kind, we could use some help,” he said. He grimaced. “My assistants are very good at their jobs. This is just a bit of an unusual situation.”
“More than happy to help in any way,” Jackson assured him.
“Of course, Amos,” Perry said, “whatever you need.”
Shelly, Jackson, and Perry followed the medical examiner back around into the trees and brush where Perry had discovered the remains.
As they walked around, Shelly commented, “His body was moved, obviously. But was he burned where he’s lying?” she asked.
“I believe so,” Dr. McGrath told her. “I need to be back in my morgue with all my tools and our abilities to determine substances, but I think the body was dragged around and drenched in gasoline. As you’ll note, while the remains are surrounded by brush and trees, the area where the ashes lie is a clearing.
The killer didn’t want a big brush fire bringing in a horde of firefighters.
But if you look, you’ll see that the leaves on nearby bushes and trees are singed or discolored.
But that works well for now, because we’re getting a tarp beneath the whole of the scene. ”
Dr. McGrath’s assistants were waiting; they had a large tarp at the ready. They just needed two others to grab the ends while McGrath supervised, seeing to it the tarp was deep enough beneath the ground to collect all the remains and straight enough in its movement.
“We got this,” Jackson said, nodding toward Perry but speaking to Shelly. “Go back in front; see what your instincts tell you.”
Instincts?
Well, all good cops, agents, and investigators were supposed to have “gut” reactions to people and situations.
“Sure,” she said. “Frankly, we’ll be looking for a needle in a haystack.
Someone George Maynard exposed did this or ordered it done.
And that list, through the years, is long.
I guess we can start with the tech company that was bilking its customers for years and years, creating the hack that caused them to pay big-time for security measures so that they couldn’t be hacked. ”
“Gen-Zec,” Jackson said. “They’re doing all kinds of research up at our main offices right now.”
“Of course.”
“Go. See what you can see,” Jackson told her.
She nodded and walked around to the front of the house, standing about ten feet from the porch and the main entrance.
She’d seen George Maynard enough on television screens. She’d seen him on news shows when a situation was being discussed—and she’d seen him in person a few times in court, supporting those who were speaking against an individual or corporation.
He was the whistleblower of all time.
And any of those he had taken down might have wanted to exact revenge.
She pictured the man, probably clad in a casual suit …
No probably about it, she reminded herself. She’d seen bits of yesterday’s news on her phone. He’d given a news conference, explaining what was going on with Gen-Zec. The world was now high-tech.
But high tech and AI needed to be watched carefully by any one making use of them. The old adage was true. Tech was wonderful—when it worked.
Of course, when it worked properly.
The average man or woman could be hurt, greatly wronged, when tech was manipulated.
So.
She could picture George Maynard just as he had been when he returned home. He’d parked his car.
He’d walked to the door. He wasn’t afraid; he was tired. He loved his home, and he was glad to have reached it. He would be giving out more information at a second news conference when he woke up the following morning.