Fatal Connections

Chapter 58

Not only did Alex uncover a rat's nest of shell companies and so-called nonprofits connected to Embrace the Wild, but her tracks converged with those of various federal agencies. According to her sources, the company was one of the local affiliates in an international operation that potentially violated enough federal laws to get nearly the entire FBI and a few other alphabet agencies involved.

"But that's not why I stopped looking," Alex said.

I nodded, feeling glum about what I figured the reason was.

"The feds have struggled to deal with the illicit use of shell companies for ages," Alex said. "There's nothing unusual about that. But the more I poked around, the tougher it became to find answers."

Alex stabbed a finger on the table. "My search led to highly classified information—references to files I couldn't access. When I turned to trusted sources for help, most of them didn't return my calls. Some did, but then they just clammed up on me, so I had to stop. I felt like I was living inside some movie like All the President's Men or Three Days of the Condor."

"Hmm. I've never seen either one of them."

Alex gave me a look that said poor millennial and then gave me a capsule description of each.

That substantially renewed my paranoia about the last week or so. "Do you think the Harcourts might have been murdered by criminal conspirators?" As I spoke, I realized my words sounded like they came from a bad movie.

She shrugged. "I couldn't say, but one way or another, they got involved with people who have done more than break the law. Enough to suggest links to terrorists and other bad actors, here and abroad."

"I hate to ask, but—"

She must be a mind reader because she cut in with, "You want me to do a deeper background check on the Harcourts?"

"Yep." If the Harcourts were dirty, they had done a great job of covering their tracks.

Alex agreed to do more digging. Since she had already given me a break on her usual fee, I suspected that she was motivated more by curiosity than by any financial gain. After we parted, more questions came up. Who exactly had the Harcourts gotten involved with? What did they know? And when? Did the brown sedan have any connection to whoever was pulling the strings? Was the ever-so-smooth Parker Adams involved?

Assuming they were innocent, the Harcourts might have been inadvertently drawn into an arrangement with the petting zoo that then made them suspects in a federal investigation—subjects of scrutiny on the national security front. If they weren't involved but suspected that someone was watching them, maybe they thought they should hire a bodyguard. Being watched by the feds? I shook my head. My thoughts were going in circles.

As I drove home, I constantly scanned my surroundings, left-right-rear view, left-right, left-right-rear view, all the way to my apartment. I didn't see the brown car, but I did see a row of sedans in a rainbow of colors. Maybe the owner of the brown sedan had had the car painted. As soon as I went inside, I looked up the delivery service and gave them a call. The man who answered, "Round the Clock. We deliver," spoke so slowly, I wanted to reach through the phone lines to help extract the words.

"Hi, yes," I said, in a more lilting voice than usual. "You provide local delivery?"

"Yes, ma'am." He dragged out the word "ma'am" to almost four syllables. "Round the Clock. Courier and van."

"As you may know, the police are investigating a homicide that took place in one of the neighborhoods you serve," I said, citing the date the police had given the press. "One of your drivers was recently—"

"Ma'am? Can I help you?" The voice had picked up some speed.

"If there was a delivery during the time the killing occurred, it would be a huge help to the police to know if the driver witnessed anything. I'd like to speak with the driver assigned to that neighborhood on the day of the murder from 5:30 to 6:00 am." Then, I rattled off the hundred block for the Harcourts' house. And all of that without telling a single lie.

The man either coughed or laughed. "Right. And who are you exactly?"

"I'm related to one of the victims." An exaggeration, yes, but it sounded better than, "I found them, and the cops are itching to put me away."

"Hmph." After a long pause, he added, "Okay. I'll check the schedule. What location, day, and time was that again?"

I gave him the details, just as the media had announced them.

"Hang on." The on-hold silence pressed on my eardrum.

I paced the floor, phone to my ear, switched to speaker, did a one-finger dust inspection of my minimalist furnishings, waved at Rocky, who was visible through his usual window, and circled back to where I had started by the time the man came back on.

"This is interesting." He sounded more alert now. "One of our drivers was in that neighborhood on that day, but he arrived at around 5:15 in the morning."

"What time did he leave?"

"It doesn't say. According to our records, that was his final delivery." Anticipating my next question, he added. "He brought the van back at 8:00 am"

I wondered what the driver was doing during that stretch of time and where he did it. "Did the driver deliver to this address on a regular basis? And for how long?"

The man paused. I had asked too many questions. Shit.

"Ma'am, with all due respect, I would let the police handle this."

"And if your employee was a possible witness, shouldn't he be told?" I threw the suggestion back at him.

"If our employee was a witness," he said, with a bit of a growl, "wouldn't the police know by now?"

I had no idea what the police would know or should know within a week after starting a homicide investigation. Other than something about 48 hours.

"Now, if you'll excuse me . . . ."

"Wait!" I threw up my mental hands and struggled to keep speaking in a calm, completely un-desperate voice. "Please help me. Because, to be honest, I'm not with the police but I need them to solve this. I don't want to be involved, but I am and could really use your help."

A long silence ensued. "Ok-ay," he finally said, drawing the word out slowly. "What do you need to know?"

"Could I get the driver's name and contact info? Maybe a phone number?"

He paused. "I'll talk to him and ask him to call you, OK?"

"Perfect," I said, hoping that I wasn't just doing some wishful thinking.