The Mourning Mail (final release candidate #7)

Chapter 25

I pulled into the lot at the Greenfinch Restaurant and Bar the next afternoon and parked two rows away from the entrance. As I walked to the eatery's front door, the green Mustang that followed me in gunned its engine and brushed my coat as it passed me at too high a speed for a parking lot. Racing, I supposed, to grab one of the few remaining slots. I thought I'd seen the nose of a similar Mustang behind me a few days ago, but I wasn't sure. Still, I made a note to keep an eye out for any other green Mustangs that popped up. Two might be a coincidence, but given my recent experience with Seaver and his goons, three would be a problem.

I had arrived a few minutes early and got us a four-top so Marci and I would have room to work. I was on pins and needles waiting to see her, but Marci wasn't far behind. It surprised me to see her in a cast and on crutches.

"Oh, Marci, what happened to you?" I asked with genuine concern.

"I met Liz Frank out on the dance floor," Marci said, no expression on her face.

"What did she do, shoot your foot?!?" I asked, still not comprehending.

"I am just messing with you," Marci said. "It's a Lisfranc fracture. That's where a bone, or maybe several, in the middle of your foot, the ones above your arch, get broken."

Seeing the blank expression on my face, she explained. "I had never heard of one either, but I have to tell you, you go down like a falling rock when it happens. If you want to take somebody out painfully and quickly without killing them, that's how you'd do it."

"This happened at work, an in-the-line-of-duty thing?" I asked.

"I only wish. Danny and I like country-western dancing at a nightspot where many of the AA members go—you can order club sodas all night long, and they won't blink an eye. But it is a public bar, so you get people drinking. We were on the dance floor to a slow set, and some guy was pawing a girl beside us. Finally, she'd had enough and belted him. He came crashing into us—he must have weighed 250 or better—and the heel of one of his cowboy boots nailed me right on top of my foot. Danny caught me, so my head didn't go bouncing off the floor, but by then, there was nothing he could do to stop the damage to my hoof."

"Do they have you on sick leave?" I asked.

"No, I'm milking all the sympathy I can get and working it out," Marci said. "I figure I'll have some great leverage in the future if I need some paid time away. 'Hey, Captain, remember when...?'" Marci laughed.

"Still, it looks and sounds painful—I wouldn't want it to happen to me," I said, and suddenly I could feel a twinge of what must have been empathy pain in my right foot.

"Other than childbirth, that was as much pain as I've ever experienced in one go," Marci replied. "But as long as I don't put any weight on it and I take my meds, it's okay during the day. At night, it throbs, but I've gotten used to it enough that I can get some sleep now."

Even though we were only a party of two and the place was getting crowded, the hostess moved us to a bigger corner booth. That kindness let Marci rest her cast on the cushioned seat. Marci and I agreed we'd order before I got into why I had asked her to come.

Once our server had taken our drink and food orders, Marci grinned and said, "That's enough about me. Time for you to put up or shut up. What in the world have you gotten us into that has you so excited? I could tell something had you pumped up. You used an exclamation point in your last text, and you never do that. And, of course, I have a professional obligation to pay attention when someone mentions two or more homicides in the same sentence."

"You might remember the last time we had lunch together when I asked you for help with two different situations, and then texted you later about a third," I began. "There was the Brian Pierce beating death downtown and the presumed killing of Dr. James Seaver's wife. Her son suspects the doctor, but no corpse has yet turned up. And we've talked a couple of times about Coach Cantor's murder execution-style in his living room."

"Of course," Marci said. "We had very little on either of the first two, but I got you what I could."

"And you were wonderful as usual, Marci. You came up with exactly the information I needed," I said. "What I couldn't tell you then, because I had no way to fact-check anything myself and didn't want to send anyone off on a wild goose chase, was that I have reason to believe the three cases might connect. If you can fire up your laptop, you can follow along with the story." I handed Marci the flash drive I'd made containing the black light images of Brian's letters from my cellphone. "Here, the drive is yours to keep," I said, "but you need to promise me I get the exclusive story when it comes out."

"You know I don't have the authority, but if it is what you think it is, I can pass the request up the line," Marci replied.

"Fair enough," I said. I began telling Marci the history of the envelopes tumbling along in the turf at the memorial gardens and how my father had taken it upon himself to find the author. As I told the tale, I placed the expanding file folder with the original letters on the table. "These are the letters and envelopes as I got them."

I summarized Brian's story of catching three people moving a dead body while he was robbing a home. Then I laid out Brian's identification of the participants as 'Doc,' a woman he thinks was Doc's girlfriend, and another guy he knows as 'Rickie.' I described Brian's tagging of the wall and carpet in the home. "We indirectly confirmed the graffiti when James Seaver complained to your detectives about the vandalism. The circumstances explain why he can't let the police in to investigate the act. The once-upon-a-time doctor wanted to abuse law enforcement to identify the burglar for him so he could go after the graffiti artist himself."

Marci had gone quiet as she read along and said, "Okay, that tracks for me. Is the moving of the body the first mention in these letters of anyone committing new crimes, any that would be unknown to the department?"

"Everything to this point has been historical," I answered, "and speaks to the relationship between Brian and his deceased sister. The next relevant letter is BriansLetter39.jpg. In it, he mentions his suspicions about the murder of James Seaver's neighbor, who we know is, or was, Coach.

"Oh, and just so you know, these didn't come to me in sequential order – I just retrieved this one yesterday – or else I would have let you know about the tie to Coach sooner.

"Brian goes on about strange faces in his neighborhood throwing their weight around, trying to find out who witnessed the removal of the woman's body. He feels trapped, and he's worried these thugs will find out it is him."

"Yeah, we know Johnny Rocco's and the crew that works out of there," Marci said. "I'll give your Brian some credit; he's got that neighborhood down cold."

"The last letter describes how he plans to address the situation head-on," I said, "and lays out his plan to go after Rickie. He wants to stage a faked extortion attempt by Rickie against the doctor. Whatever Brian did to follow up on that thought probably got him killed. The filename is BriansLetter40.jpg."

"Got it," Marci said, her eyes zig-zagging side-to-side as she read along.

"I also included a copy of my field notes for the interview with Theresa Seaver's ex, Darrell Woodson," I said. "He had his private detective dig into James Seaver and Richard Ainsworth. I believe Ainsworth is the 'Rickie' in Brian's letters. Woodson lays out the motive for killing Theresa pretty well. If things went how I suspect they did when Brian entered Ainsworth's home that night, Ainsworth is Brian's killer. His prints and DNA should match one of the two sets your forensics team pulled off Brian's body in that alley.

"OK... What are these two Post-it notes about?" Marci asked.

"The two sticky notes Cassidy and I found in his waste baskets tie Coach's homicide to David Barnwell, and you discovered that Ainsworth used David Barnwell as an alias in one of his corrupt businesses. Brian's letter lays out a motive for Seaver killing Coach, thinking Coach graffitied his living room with the accusation that Seaver killed his wife. We know Ainsworth does Seaver's dirty work, and Ainsworth fits the description given by the Neighborhood Watch lady."

Our server had appeared beside our table, patiently waiting for a pause in our conversation. As soon as the young woman got the opportunity, she announced she was going on break and that another server would take care of us. She asked if she could get us anything else, and as Marci declined for both of us, I realized Marci hadn't been her usual exuberant self. What she'd had to say in response to these revelations was brief, even terse.

It must be the pain medications she's taking, I thought.