When the Dead Speak

Chapter 39

Chapter 39

Sam walked up behind Tim Miesner, who was hunched over Sam's keyboard. A fluff of youthful, sand-colored hair stood straight up on the top of his head. He stared intently at the screen through rimmed glasses.

"I'm sorry finals tied me up."

"How did you do?"

Tim flashed a smile. "Straight A's." Sam patted him on the back. Tim pointed to the screen on her computer. "This lock and key icon on the menu is a tricky one."

"Just take your time. I only need it yesterday." Tim looked sharply at her. Sam smiled. She wrote CAIN on a sheet of paper. "Also, see if you can find anyone by this name with a rap sheet."

"You mean like CIA or Interpol?" His eyes grew wide with anticipation.

She laughed and ran her hand through his hair. "Police, FBI, CIA, whatever your heart desires." She stood at the door, "Don't let anyone in but me."

Jake and Frank walked in through the back door carrying their sportcoats. Frank's tie was loosened. The front of Jake's cream-colored knit shirt was damp.

"The motor pool better have the air conditioning in that car fixed by tomorrow or I'm just going to drive my own," Frank said.

"How did you get in here?" Sam demanded.

Jake dangled his keys in front of Sam, then snapped them away before she had a chance to give them a closer look.

"You made a key to MY house?"

"Abby gave me a spare." Jake tossed his sportcoat over the back of a kitchen chair.

Sam raised her hands in an I give up gesture. "I want you to listen to something." She pressed the button on the tape player sitting on the counter.

The two men listened to Preston's threatening call to Murphy, demanding that he close the case on Hap Wilson. But the most interesting call was to someone named Cain. All Preston had said was, "I have a job for you."

"This was the morning before Abbott died. The morning before YOU," Sam pointed an accusing finger at Jake, "removed the bug."

"That's reaching, Sam." Jake pressed the STOP button. "I have a job for you does NOT mean he hired a hit. The guy could be an auto mechanic."

Frank checked his beeper, then carried Sam's cordless phone to the dining room to call the office.

"Sam." Tim stopped when he saw she had company.

Jake reached out a hand to him. "You must be the boy genius."

"I guess so." Tim turned back to Sam. "I'm going to need more time on that lock and key icon menu. And I better use my modem at home to access the CIA and Interpol files."

Jake asked, "Am I going to want to know what you want with CIA files?"

"No," Sam replied, steering Tim toward the back door. "He's just going to run Cain's name through the files." Turning to Tim she asked, "How soon can I have something in my hands?"

"I have to write a program in order to cross-check the name. That may have to run all night. I'll write the program right after dinner. As far as the menu, I'll keep working on it. There may be a password within a password, and those can be tricky."

"They can trace it, you know," Jake said after Tim left. "And if the paper trail leads to Tim, you're putting him in a compromising position."

"Tim's good. He never leaves tracks."

"There's always a first time."

"If I remember correctly, you were the one breaking and entering with me the other night at Preston's."

"Self-preservation. You get busted, it reflects on the entire department."

"Sam," Frank called out. "What's your fax number here?" Sam wrote the number down and gave it to Frank. Minutes later, Frank ended his call and joined them in the kitchen. "Jim Ludders, who's investigating Abbott's death in Dallas, said they would leave the case open for a couple of days in case we come up with anything on our end but, as far as their department is concerned, George Abbott died of natural causes."

The fax machine started humming. They walked into the study and stood vigil over the paper-spitting machine.

"The family lawyer accessed Mister Abbott's safety deposit box," Frank explained. "It contained only one item. Ludders wasn't sure if it had any significance. But when a man bothers to rent a safety deposit box for over forty years..."

"Forty years?" Sam interrupted.

"Yes. And all he kept in it was one piece of jewelry." Frank pulled the sheet out of the fax tray.

"Sonafabitch," Jake whispered.

The picture was of a pin in the shape of a lightning bolt.