Page 58 of 3rd Tango
He looks startled at the unexpected questions and leans back. Everyone watches him. “The dispatcher couldn’t tell. They had one of those voices that could’ve been either. Maybe the person was deliberately disguising it. Who knows? The dispatcher attempted to patch them through to me, but the person wouldn’t stay on the line.”
His hands rest comfortably on the tabletop; his fingers don’t fidget. His body language doesn’t exhibit any signs of lying. “The caller said to tell me the gang was planning its next heist. They were meeting at an abandoned warehouse in south D.C. within the next few days. My partner and I surveilled the place and the caller was right. We were able to nab them twenty-four hours after the tip came in.”
If the snitch was Evelyn and Sven found out, why would he have still showed at that meeting and got caught? But he couldn’t have realized it afterwards because he was dead.
My theory there is blown. Evelyn couldn’t have been the anonymous tipster.
I move on to my second question. “Sven and his gang were living under false identities, according to several reports. Apparently, the IDs were done by a professional. Did you ever track down who created them?”
I see the corners of his eyes narrow ever so slightly. “They had plenty of money and connections in the underground. Could’ve been anyone.”
All eyes shift to me. “Any chance your tipster was the person supplying them?”
Like a tennis match, the audience’s eyes go to Al. “I doubt it. How would a forger know about their comings and goings?”
Because perhaps, every time they planned a heist, they had their forger prepped and ready. I don’t say the words out loud, but the women around my table are smart. I see the gears turning in Mom’s head.
“I suppose it’s a long shot,” I concede. “I was just wondering if the person doing it for them could’ve been an artist?”
A long, pregnant pause. “In the digital age? Even back then, forging signatures was rarely necessary and ID theft wasn’t unusual. Is there someone in particular you’re thinking might have been involved?”
He knows exactly who I’m thinking of. Mom does, too. “Marie?” she volunteers.
“It’s one of the possibilities we should look at.”
She makes a note and glances up. “Can we get some coffee?”
“I haven’t made any.”
She looks aghast. Pushing away from the table, she tosses her glasses on the notepad. “Well, we’re going to need it, and you look like you could use a whole pot yourself.”
Thanks, Mom. Reluctantly, I follow her and pull down the coffee bag while she fills the carafe with water. “Is this necessary?” I ask, quietly. “I’m not exactly up for company.”
She takes the bag from my hand and begins scooping grounds into the maker. “I knew you’d want to talk to Al about his connection to the gang. You might want to change your clothes before we dig in.”
It’s all I can do not to get my hackles up, but I notice she looks tired around the eyes. “How are you feeling today?” I ask. “Did you sleep okay last night?”
The battle armor she’s wearing slips a little. “Actually, I didn’t sleep well at all. Your dad was snoring, and I kept seeing the accident over and over in my mind. If either of those bullets had connected…” Her hands pause in mid-air, gaze dropping to the bag of grounds. I don’t miss the tremble in her voice. “Charlie, we’ve stumbled into something big. I feel it. This has gotten more dangerous than I expected.”
She believes she’s on the trail of a serial killer, but watching him from behind her blinds and being shot at are two very different things.
Her gaze rises to meet mine. “Do you think it’s safe to move forward? There’s nothing I want more than to figure out this mystery, but if it means putting you or Meg in danger…”
She trails off, a question left dangling. I rub her arm. “We’ve definitely stepped in some shit, Mom. Yes, it’s dangerous, and yes, things could get worse before they get better. Meg and I know how to take care of ourselves. I would feel better if you backed down and let us handle it.”
The defiant light returns. “I’m not asking you to charge into the fire without me. I started this, and I’ll finish it.”
“Okay then. But we proceed with caution, and do this the right way.”
“I thought we were.”
I motion for her to follow me to my room. Once there, I close the door for added privacy. “We came by the painting of Evelyn illegally,” I remind her. “I’m going to turn the information about her over to Taylor and the FBI and let them proceed to investigate that angle. They can close out Evelyn’s missing persons case, which they didn’t care much about, except for the fact she might’ve known where the money was. Beyond that, I have to figure out how to prove the connection between her and Marie, and possibly Gayle, without using the portrait.”
She lowers her voice, now my co-conspirator. “Gayle got a new security system installed. I saw a van there yesterday, and it looks like they have trip wires, spotlights, and cameras everywhere now. I saw the installer showing Gayle how it all works.”
No surprise after we were almost caught by him that night. He never saw us, but he must suspect somebody was messing around and decided not to take any chances.
“If only I could get into the house and look for something that connects Marie and Evelyn,” Mom says, “then we could get the FBI to reopen the case and figure out if Marie and Gayle were involved in the bank robberies, or know something about Evelyn’s death.”
