“It was Boyd,” says Harry.
I nod. “I didn’t realize it until tonight. He must have gone out of his mind when the project for Penny was killed. He was convinced it would save her life. I tried to tell him it was a long shot at best, but he wouldn’t listen. I should have realized when he came to me talking about divorce.”
“He murdered Jordan because he held her responsible for killing the project,” says Harry.
“And Epperson, and anybody else whose fingers might have touched the thing. I suspect he came to the office tonight because he thought we’d figured it out.
“Why did he think that?”
“Because you retrieved the file from Doris, the one she gave you, the one I left at their house after I did the original workup with Crone. That file had everything in it, the project application for the kids’ portion of the Huntington study, along with the copies of the supplemental applications for funding from Jordan and Epperson. I’d let Doris keep them because they had nothing to do with the firm. They weren’t legal files. She and Frank clearly had a larger stake than I did. All the while Frank was watching the money dry up in front of his eyes.
“My guess is he didn’t know you’d come by to pick up the file until he went looking for it. He probably asked Doris. She would have told him where it was.”
“It’s a wonder he didn’t kill me,” says Harry.
“He was interrupted.”
Harry looks at me wide-eyed.
“He was gathering information. Probably figured he had one last chance to get anybody who was involved before we turned him in and the cops got him.
“When I got there tonight the lid was off one of the boxes out in the reception area. You didn’t do it. He nailed you before you got the lights on. So it was Frank. He saw the same papers I did. The stuff you got from the university. The ones with Tash’s signature on them restoring the money and killing the project. They were open on the desk. Those weren’t in the file I gave to Doris. The twisted mind,” I say. “He probably figures Tash was in it with them from the beginning.”
chapter twenty-one
Tash lives in a condo development out on the rocky shoals a few miles below the village, just south of a place known to surfers and locals as Wipe-out Beach.
It takes Harry and me twenty minutes to find the area, stopping twice for directions. When we finally locate the street, we are confronted with another maze. Every unit in the massive complex looks like every other one, with numbers on the clustered mailboxes out front.
We find the address for Tash’s unit and park in front.
“He’s probably out with Crone celebrating,” says Harry.
“Let’s hope.”
I reach for the door
“Let’s think about this,” says Harry. “We could call the cops.”
“And tell them what? Tate and Tannery aren’t exactly in a mood to accept my theories on the case at the moment. They’re not likely to put out an APB on Boyd based on a few documents. But then they didn’t have the conversation I did with Frank about schemes for divorce to avoid medical bills. The guy was desperate.”
It’s the problem any prosecutor would have at this point. After holding Crone in jail for months and trying him on capital charges, it’s tough to go before the public and tell them, “Oh, by the way, we found another perpetrator.” They are not likely to do it, even if it’s the right perpetrator.
“So what are you gonna tell Tash when you find him?”
“For starters, I’ll tell him to get a hotel room for the night. He and Crone both. I don’t know exactly what Frank has in mind. But I’d rather not find out. Tomorrow I’ll try to get ahold of Tate. It’s Saturday, the offices are closed, but somebody should be able to reach him. Maybe I can convince him to bring Boyd in, at least for some questioning.”
“If you’re right, he’s a nut case,” says Harry.
“I’m banking on it. I’ll warn the cops every way I can.” If they approach him, I am thinking Frank may go berserk. If they can get him into custody safely, that would cause them to take a hard look.”
“What about the family, Doris and the kids?” says Harry.
“I thought about that. I tried calling Frank’s house earlier. There was no answer.”
“You think he’s done something to them?”
“I don’t know. I’m hoping maybe Doris took the kids and went somewhere. At the moment, Frank seems to be on a flat trajectory, single-minded. I think his sights right now are fixed on Tash. In his mind, he’s racing against time. I’ll check on Doris as soon as we’re done here.”
“That could be dicey,” says Harry.
“I know. I can drop you somewhere before I go over there.”
“Fat chance,” says Harry. “Just so long as you understand I’m not blocking any bullets for you.”
I smile at him. “Let’s see if we can find Tash.”
As Harry and I open the doors to the car we can hear the crash of surf on the other side of the development. The condos back up on the cliffs overlooking the beach. We check the numbers on the mailboxes. They are clustered in groups, by address, with unit numbers assigned to each box.
We find Tash’s mailbox, unit 312.
“Third floor. Up top,” says Harry. We head up the walkway toward the door. When we get there, it’s locked.
“We could wait until somebody comes out,” says Harry.
On the wall next to the door is a speaker for an intercom system, with buttons lining the wall, names penciled on placards next to them.
I press one of the numbers on the second floor and wait a moment. Nobody answers. I try another. A voice comes over the intercom.
“Yeah.”
I look at another name, this time from the first floor hoping they won’t know each other. “This is Mr. Symington in one-oh-eight. I left my key in the lock to my apartment. I wonder, could you let me in?”
Whoever it is doesn’t respond, but a second later there is a quick buzz and the lock snaps open on the front door. Harry yanks on it, and we’re in. We move quickly up the stairs before the guy on two can check to see who came in.
By the time we get to the top floor, both Harry and I are sucking wind. He’s holding the back of his head like it’s going to come apart. I’m feeling like some NFL linebacker tattooed me in the chest with his helmet. We lean against the wall, catching our breath.
“You all right?”
“Yeah. Gotta start jogging again,” he say.
“When did you ever jog?”
“When I was a kid,” he says. Harry winks at me.
I look at the number on the door across from the top of the stairs. Tash’s unit is to the right. We work our way down the hall, trying not to make the floor squeak as we walk. We pass four doors, two on each side of the hall, until we come to 312. Tash’s place is on the back side, an ocean view.
There’s a peephole in the center of the door at about eye height. I lean down and take a look. Shielding the light from around the lens, I try to peer through it backwards. All I can make out is light and dark, what appears to be an absence of any movement inside. A couple of points, specks of brightness, bleed rays of light. These, I assume, are lamps that have been left on.
“See anything?”
I shake my head. I put an ear next to the door and listen. Nothing.
“We could just knock,” Harry whispers.
I hold my hand up, shake my head.
Farther to the right there are two more apartment doors. Beyond that the hallway widens and forms a T. Quietly I move toward the intersection in the hall. On one side, in the intersecting hallway toward the front of the building, are two elevator doors. In the other direction, toward the ocean, is a sliding door leading out onto a veranda.
I head toward the sliding door. Harry follows. I flip the catch lock on the door’s handle, slide it open and step out onto the balcony. There is a brisk breeze off the Pacific, rising as it hits the cliffs below us. I slide the door closed, and Harry and I can talk.