Least Wanted (Sam McRae Mystery 2)

“At this point, it could be any of the above, though suicide by drowning is rare, as you know. No apparent signs of struggle. But with so much time in the water, it’s hard to tell. He could have fallen in the canal and hit his head or he could have been beaned and dumped in the water. They’ll know more after they check his lungs. And no one can say where the body entered the water. They may get a general idea, based on the estimated water flow rate. Pinpointing the exact location is a long shot.”

“You mean he could have been floating downstream a while?”

“From the looks of him, he was submerged most of the time. Given our warm fall weather, it could have taken from a few days to a week for the body to surface. Or so they tell me.”

“And the cops are still investigating?”

“That’s the word. Now, here’s the good news.”

“I could use some good news. What is it?”

“When we spoke, you mentioned finding a key at that rat trap Cooper used as a mail drop. When I found out where Cooper lived, I snooped and found a fireproof box. Guess what? You need a key to open it. Maybe the one you found.”

I sucked in a deep breath. “I take it you found it before the cops got involved.”

“The day before. Talk about good timing. Anyway, I took the box to the office and forced it open. It had loads of goodies in it. I know you’ll want to see and hear it all. I’ll copy everything and send it to you before I turn it over to the cops.”

“Hear? Are there recordings?”

“Yep. You’ll see. A lot of the conversations mean little to me. They may mean something to you. I suspect Cooper was keeping them as insurance. It appears to be damaging information. I’m on a surveillance today, but I’ll copy it tonight and send it to you first thing tomorrow.”

I exhaled the breath I’d been holding. “Thanks, Alex. I appreciate your work on this. I can’t wait to see what you found.” I gave her my address and asked her to overnight the package the minute she could. “Let me know if you learn any more about how Cooper died,” I added, before hanging up.

I checked my files and found the copy of Cooper’s calendar. He’d entered the cryptic entry “10 p.m. No. 17” for last Thursday, two days before I’d tried to find him. Was it an address? An apartment number? It suggested a meeting, perhaps Cooper’s last.

I flipped farther back through the calendar and saw entries for “staff meeting” at regular intervals, a couple of doctor’s appointments and what appeared to be personal information. Things were looking unremarkable until I noticed “6 p.m. No. 44” written on an April d

ay. What was up with the numbers? I hoped the answer was somewhere in that fireproof box. Cooper couldn’t tell me a thing now.

* * * * *

The next day, Brad Higgins and I sat in Walt’s conference room, while Walt fiddled with his VCR. The machine whirred as he ran our copy of the security tape forward and backward. The lobby camera in the building Kozmik Games called home was positioned at an angle high above and several feet back from the entrance, allowing an unobstructed frontal view of everyone who passed through the door. People zoomed in and out, in a blur. When we got to the segment about an hour and a half before Brad entered the building, Walt hit Forward, and we watched it play at normal speed.

Walt had arranged Brad’s pre-trial release by convincing the judge that Brad was neither a threat to the community nor a flight risk. Walt emphasized that Brad was on administrative leave due to an employment-related situation. He assured the judge that Brad had every reason to stay in the area. The judge accepted the argument and allowed Brad’s release on bail. I wondered how much Walt’s argument had weighed in the judge’s decision. Or had the judge merely acquiesced to the wishes of his frequent drinking buddy. The two were fixtures at a pub near the courthouse.

Brad gazed at the screen, looking dazed and dejected. On the tape, people paraded in and out. He recognized several Kozmik employees leaving between 5:00 and 5:30. The next half hour revealed nothing new.

A little after 6:00 p.m. he said, “Hold it.” Walt hit Pause. Brad sat up straighter and made counterclockwise circles with his hand. “Uncle Walt, run that back, could you?”

Walt did so. A large man backed out of the building.

“That guy,” Brad said, pointing at the screen. “I need to take a closer look.”

Walt ran the tape forward at normal speed until the man’s image filled the frame. He paused it.

Brad’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. That’s him. I don’t know who he is.”

“You’ve seen him before, though?” Walt asked.

“Yes. At the office.”

“Any idea what he might be doing there?” I asked.

Brad shrugged. “I saw him once or twice in the hall. But I’d never forget that face.”

I took a good look. His mug would leave a lasting impression on the blind. Buzz cut blonde hair covered his block of a head. About six feet tall and bulky, his shoulders extended from Maryland to Ohio. And he wore a menacing look that said Don’t mess with me.

There was something familiar about his looks that I couldn’t put my finger on.