Chapter 3
Shelly could see and feel the young woman’s pain, and she could even understand her anger.
As long as she had been doing this, she had never managed to understand how a human being could be so cold and cruel as to take another’s life. Yes, sadly, wars happened, and people killed in self-defense. And in her job … well, yes, she’d had to kill.
But cold-blooded murder continued to elude her. And thus, she understood both the pain and the anger.
“Ainsley, yes, this is so hard, and I am so very sorry,” Shelly told the young woman.
“No, no, I’m sorry, I’m trying to help and instead, I’m feeling so hateful—” Ainsley began miserably.
“And that’s all right. You’re going to hurt horribly, and that’s human, and it can’t be helped,” Grant said gently.
Ainsley nodded. Her sister, at her side, cleared her throat and spoke, telling them, “Awkward introductions here, but that’s the least of it. I’m Miranda,” Ainsley’s sister said, “and please believe that my sister—”
“It’s okay—really, truly okay. We understand; we know that Ainsley is in agony,” Shelly told her.
“Ainsley, Miranda,” Jackson said, “as you know, we believe remains found at the house are your fiancé, but we’re not certain. And please believe me, these agents will do everything humanly possible to find the truth, and to find whoever has been responsible for this, one way or another.”
“Of course.” She looked at Grant. “You know that Florida agent, Perry, and Perry knew George. And George admired Perry, and … I called Perry when I couldn’t find George. If Perry believes in you, I believe in you!” Ainsley said.
That was good, Shelly thought. Thankfully, because of Perry’s association with Grant, they did have this young woman’s trust.
“It’s true George might have had dozens of enemies because of his determination to save the average man and get the truth out there. But, Ainsley, do you know of anyone in particular who might have been so furious they would attack George like this?” Shelly asked.
“He was doing a massive expose on Gen-Zec,” Ainsley told them.
“And the company will most probably go bankrupt because of it. But … I don’t know.
I’ve met Cecil Cartwright, the CEO of the company.
And,” she murmured, making a face and glancing at her sister, “I don’t know how else to describe the man except for namby-pamby.
I have a hard time imagining he orchestrated this. ”
“He was even polite. Courteous,” Miranda told them.
“It was unusual, I guess, that we met the man, but he and a few others from Gen-Zec were being interviewed after George at a local affiliate news station. We were all in the studio, and he was nice. I guess you can be nice and still murder someone, but …”
“His assistant!” Ainsley said. Her face wrinkled up in tears again. “Andy Jeter. He’s a horrible human being! When Cecil tried to be decent, Jeter yelled at him! He kept telling Cecil Cartwright to wage a war against George, to ‘sue his ass from now ’til doomsday!’”
Shelly saw that their waiter seemed to be avoiding their table. In this case, she thought it might have been better to have met with Ainsley and Miranda at the house.
She looked over at Jackson.
He might have been thinking the same, though she knew their special agents in charge never liked anyone but their own investigators or officers, or agents with other law enforcement agencies who were working with them, in the houses or apartments where they were staying while working on a case.
“I think we need to order some food,” Jackson said.
“I don’t think I can eat!” Ainsley said.
“But you must,” Miranda told her firmly.
“What would you like? I’ll take care of ordering,” Grant said, rising. “I see you did get us all some iced tea.”
“Sweet tea, good old Southern-style sweet tea!” Miranda said. “And I know my sister. Pescatarian. They have a great mahi dish here. I’ll do the same.”
“Round the table?” Shelly suggested. She shrugged, looking at Grant. “Make it easy.”
“And quick,” Jackson told them.
“And quick!” Grant agreed. He left the table.
“All right,” Shelly told Ainsley. “We’d planned on seeing Cecil Cartwright, of course. We’ll certainly speak with Andy Jeter and others at Gen-Zec. Can you think of anyone else?” she asked.
Ainsley was thoughtful.
“Patricia Norton,” Miranda said.
Ainsley looked at her. “Miranda, she’s a nasty narcissist, but do you really think she could have done this?”
“Who is Patricia Norton?” Shelly asked.
“An ‘influencer,’” Miranda said. “And she’s always trying to be with George. She had a real thing going for him, and …”
“Then she would have killed me, not George,” Ainsley said. “I don’t like the woman,” Ainsley told Shelly. “But seriously? She’s not any bigger than I am, and if she wanted to kill someone, it would have been me. That would have been a way to get George for herself.”
“An influencer,” Grant said, sliding back into his seat. “She’ll still be an interesting interview, I imagine.”
“Don’t let her get a camera on you!” Ainsley warned.
“We’ll be careful,” Grant assured her.
“Do you have George’s computer?” Ainsley asked.
Jackson nodded. “It’s with some of the best tech people. Is there something on the computer you know about that may suggest someone’s desire for vengeance?”
Ainsley looked troubled then, Shelly thought.
And she nodded slowly. “When you were asking me now,” she said, “I remembered this whole speech or conversation we got into leading up to last Veterans Day. I’m not sure …
but I think he got an anonymous email that didn’t scare him, but that made him …
aggravated and wondering at the insanity to be found in the human race. ”
“Do you know what the email said, what it was about?” Shelly asked
Ainsley frowned, deep in thought, and then she looked at them with determination.
“Yes!” she said. “Yes, yes, yes. I remember the words in the email exactly. ‘Beware the eleventh hour!’ And then our conversation went on to Veterans Day, how it went back to the end of World War I, something about the eleventh hour of the eleventh day at eleven o’clock!
He said that, of course, there were all kinds of events that made the eleventh of November ‘Veterans Day.’”
“There was an armistice between Germany and the Allied Powers on November 11, 1918. The war was officially ended a little less than a year later with the Treaty of Versailles,” Grant said.
“On the first anniversary of that armistice, President Woodrow Wilson declared it ‘Armistice Day,’ and there was a pause at eleven o’clock for two minutes for everyone to remember all those who served.
Then Congress passed a resolution in 1926, allowing the president to officially honor the armistice.
In 1954, the name was changed to Veterans Day.
The day was eleven/eleven, and the time to remember was eleven a.m. But I don’t think the reference you’re talking about was to Veterans Day—the ‘eleventh hour’ is recognized as the last time to act before … something happens.”
The man knew his history, Shelly thought.
And more, it seemed. He knew how to draw out information when someone was diving deeply into their memory banks.
“That was it! Exactly,” Ainsley exclaimed.
“‘Beware the eleventh hour! You’re there!’” she quoted.
“That was the exact message on his computer. ‘Beware the eleventh hour. You’re there.’ So, while that wasn’t yesterday or anything like that, it might have been a real warning.
I mean, it’s hard to tell, but … the eleventh hour.
The last chance to fix something. But he did fix things. ”
“Unfortunately, there are those who didn’t want things fixed. Let’s hope the message is still on his computer and our techs can trace it,” Shelly said. “As you’re saying, that might have been a real warning.”
“I don’t know, though,” Ainsley said. “George had so many people who loved him, people who loved what he did, whether they were involved in any of the issues he covered or not. But, as we’ve all said,” she added quietly, “he made many enemies, too.”
“What you’ve given us could really help, and knowing how badly you’re hurting,” Shelly assured her, “we’re sorry to be adding any pressure or misery to what you’re already feeling, but your words may prove to be so very helpful.”
She broke off quickly. Their server was arriving with plates. He was about twenty, she thought, and almost as distressed-looking as Ainsley as he worried about coming to their table.
A second person was with him, and between the two of them, they had everyone’s meals.
The plates went down quickly.
“Thanks, Josh, this all looks great!” Grant told the young man.
Evidently, Shelly thought, Grant had taken the time to speak with the young man, perhaps to apologize for the emotional trauma going on at the table.
She was starting to think their partnership could work out okay.
She’d read up on him and knew a little about his past, but she believed him.
He didn’t feel that his emotion regarding his last partner made him weak.
She almost smiled and looked down. He didn’t have the kind of physical presence that could make a man feel a lack of competence. And she was strangely glad they’d had the private conversation Jackson had more or less forced on them.
It was good to know what made people tick and where they were coming from in life.
Maybe it was even essential for partners in this kind of work. It was always hard to really know another person, and sometimes harder, even, for people like them.
“Great,” the young waiter said, as all the food was set down, “um, I’ll get all your plates down, refill the tea … and get out of your way. Of course, let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thank you!” Jackson told him. As Josh nodded and walked away, Jackson excused himself and followed him.
“Did I do something?” Ainsley asked.
“Sweetie, you didn’t do anything,” Miranda told her.
“It’s Jackson; he’s going to need to leave,” Grant explained. “He went to get the bill.”
“Oh, but—” Ainsley protested.