Unfinished Business: A Case Missing from The Janus Project Files

By Brad Anderson

Dyan Strother has an unusual proposition: Let her participate in solving the eight-year-old murder of her friend—a murder no one knows has been committed—and she will be a cooperative protectee. Deputy U.S. Marshal Robert Mackie has little choice but to accept. As the only member of The Janus Project available to be her protector, he would have his hands full if she remained true to her nature of misbehaving. Besides, looking into a cold case that had never been hot, especially one in a small Nebraska town, was just the kind of innocuous task he needed. He was wrong. 

  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: May 3, 2024
• ISBN: 9781977274694

Brad Anderson

Brad Anderson lives in the San Antonio, Texas, area. He is the author of 11 novels, including 6 of The Janus Project series. 

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Unfinished Business

A Case Missing from The Janus Project Files

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2024 Brad Anderson

v10.0

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all materials in this book.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

TABLE OF CONTENTS

GLOSSARY

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

CHAPTER SIXTY

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

CHAPTER SEVENTY

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

CHAPTER EIGHTY

CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

CHAPTER NINETY

CHAPTER NINETY-ONE

CHAPTER NINETY-TWO

CHAPTER NINETY-THREE

CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR

CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE

CHAPTER NINETY-SIX

CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN

CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT

CHAPTER NINETY-NINE

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED ONE

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWO

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THREE

The Janus Project is a top-secret section of the U.S. Marshals Service’s Witness Security (WITSEC) Program. Its mission is to hide marquee witnesses, prior to their testifying, where and when no one will know to look for them.

Novels by Brad Anderson

Ribbon Falls

After the Falls

Guardians

Guardians II: A Farewell to Carlos Santiago

Guardians III: The Journey Home

From The Janus Project files series

The Janus Project

When Is Sylvia Wallace?

The Genesis of Janus

When the Moon Stood Still

Raymond Wright Is Missing

Unfinished Business

GLOSSARY

A few terms you will need to keep in mind:

Master Portal, The: (also referred to as The Portal) A structure that makes teleportation and time travel possible. All time travelers must go through The Portal. It is located in the basement of The Janus Project campus.

portal: Any opening that allows teleportation and/or time travel. Portals appear only in the vertical. Such openings for teleportation can be initiated by a portal control device (PCD) only when The Master Portal is operating. By default, portals remain open for ten seconds.

portal control device (PCD): An electronic device worn on the wrist in the manner of a wristwatch. The wearer can open a portal to teleport in current time only. The PCD allows the wearer to adjust the location of the portal from as close as six inches out to ten feet. The time required for a portal initiated by a PCD to open is approximately ten seconds.

For all of you who have been with me from the beginning,

and

for Kirby Rapstein, Sr.,

Scoutmaster extraordinaire.

CHAPTER ONE

Dyan Strother’s flat

Maryland

Friday night, August 2015

Former DEA Special Agent Robert Mackie pushed shut the front door to Dyan Strother’s apartment. As was almost always the case this close to midnight, the neighborhood snuggled peacefully. Her apartment was in the old warehouse district, abandoned in the late Twentieth Century when the expected economic rebound following years of stagnation never materialized. A group of developers, with enough money to realize their vision, gutted the old warehouses and ancillary structures that were worth saving, and transformed the area into an upscale community replete with apartments, boutique stores, locally owned restaurants, and two, scaled-down chain grocery stores. The revitalization effort was now in its twelfth year. Some of the seediness of the derelict-warehouse days had returned, but overall, the district remained vibrant and safe. On this night, the usual end-of-the-week restlessness brought on by being Dyan’s sole handler had stretched his legs an extra block out for his perimeter sweep.

The restlessness remained pervasive enough that the darkened apartment did not register in his consciousness until after he had thrown the dead bolt. What could be only candlelight coming from the living room—to his right but hidden by the kitchen—provided the solitary illumination in the apartment.

His hand closed around the pistol in his shoulder holster. Everything all right, Dyan?

Yes, Robert, nothing is amiss. Please, join me in the living room. We should talk.

He shrugged out of the light jacket and hung it on the nearby coat stand to dry. The calendar indicated August was quite young but the damp chill of a maritime fog hung in the night air. The shoulder holster—and ensconced pistol—remained in place.

Robert, she said upon seeing him, I said we need to talk yet you come armed.

Only a foolish man would do otherwise when speaking alone with you.

A candelabrum of five unscented candles occupied the center of the square coffee table. All five candles held a flame, and judging by the lack of melted wax, the fires were in their infancy. An opened bottle of red wine and a glass half-filled stood a safe distance from the edge of the table.

Dyan lounged in the far corner of the cloth-covered sofa, facing him. A loose-fitting, long-sleeve pink pullover and floral pajama bottoms covered her. Her left arm lay across the back of the sofa, ending with a quarter-filled glass of wine. Her left leg was cocked and lying on the cushion; her bare right foot flat on the carpeted floor.

Her teeth gleamed in the candlelight. What gave me away? You usually put that thing away soon after you return from your security checks.

Your speech pattern and your word choices. You sound more formal, for lack of a better word. Wait, I know what it is. You sound like someone who was raised in a home where proper grammar was commonplace.

And I’ve noticed your speech strays in that direction.

A natural predisposition which allows me to become part of any group. People who catch me at it sometimes think I’m mocking them, especially when accents are involved.

Unfortunately, I was not raised in such a home. I have so many tongues in my head that it is requiring all of my efforts to think and speak in the language which is least familiar. It is a struggle that manifests itself whenever I am under duress.

Duress? You? What changed while I was out?

With her right hand, she patted the unoccupied cushion next to hers. Please sit. You’re making me nervous standing over me as you are. We need to have a mature discussion.

Only if you promise to get to get on with it. This is becoming exasperating, even for you.

You have my word.

The moment he sat, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his and remained so, long enough for him to taste the wine, before she pulled away. He had done nothing to discourage or encourage the duration of the kiss, but he had felt his left hand begin to cup in anticipation of holding her head in place a while longer.

How was that? she asked.

A little weird.

Was it my—

No. It was weird because it didn’t feel weird, but it should have.

How did it feel?

Like something we’ve done several times a day every day. It felt… familiar and not unexpected.

Good. My experience was not dissimilar, although I had anticipated some expression of rejection from you, given the nature of our relationship and your past.

My curiosity overwhelms me sometimes. I take it tonight’s theater of the absurd has something to do with whatever happened while I was out.

Nothing happened while you were out. You received a call while you were in the shower before your security check.

But there was no missed-call or voicemail indicator on my phone when I got out. I always check.

That’s because I answered.

In my voice?

Fortunately for me, you can be a man of few words.

But my phone automatically locks when— Never mind. As much time as we’ve spent together over the last three months, I shouldn’t be surprised that you know the unlock code. I didn’t know you were paying that much attention to me. Careless of me. I know better. Tell me about the call.

The FBI have everything they need to put Gerald Hartley and his people away for a very long time. Everyone associated with his gun-running and organ-harvesting operations is under observation. All accounts and assets have been tagged. All that is lacking now is Gerald’s presence. The all-clear notice will be in tomorrow’s Personals. Knowing Gerald, he will make arrangements to return on Wednesday because he’ll wish to afford me time to rescind the notice. And then I become all yours until the trial.

And the candlelight and wine and kissing aren’t going to change any of that.

Of course not. It is the time between Gerald’s capture and the trial that I wish to affect.

In what way?

In all of my incarnations in this country, I have been alone. If I am to hide effectively, I must be paired with someone.

I think you misunderstand how witness protection works. You’re the witness and I’m the person who makes sure you stay safe through your testimony all the way to when I hand you over to the relocation side of the house.

I know that is the way it is supposed to be, but I also know strong friendships have been cultivated under much worse circumstances than the one in which we find ourselves. After all, innocent men died in prison in order to protect Whitey Bulger.

Point taken, but the Marshals Service had nothing to do with Bulger. Rob leaned over and lifted the glass off the table. You must know intimacy clouds judgment.

So that’s why there’s no mention of him in that book by Pete Earley and Gerald Shur. She sipped her wine. I do know about the dangers of intimacy, which is one of the reasons I have not toyed with you as I have the others. When it comes time for you to act, I need to know you have chosen a particular course of action because you have deemed it to be the most appropriate for the situation and not because you believe it to be what I want or to display how much of a man you are.

I sense a favor about to be asked.

I have a place and time for us.

And the reason for this place and time that falls under the category of a favor?

To solve a mystery that no one knows to be a mystery.

Go on.

Because my people never age, we are left with the choice of moving on every so many years, typically no more than ten, or going away where we ‘die’ and return as the son or daughter or grandchild or some other relative who has ‘inherited’ the property left behind.

"I’m familiar with the concept. Christopher Lambert amassed quite the fortune in Highlander, as did Douglas Passey in El Paso—at least until a few months ago."

I think one of my people has been replaced.

Replaced? How do you replace a vampire without starting a war?

A much easier task than you obviously believe. Those of us who do not belong to a coven—or family, as some have started referring to themselves in order not to be confused with witches—and how exactly did a word that has as its very basic meaning ‘an assembly of thirteen witches’ ever become associated with vampires? Just because some etymologists have forced an association with the Kazan Tartar word for ‘witch?’—we tend not to socialize much amongst ourselves. As with the living, we are beset with petty rivalries and jealousies.

I guess that would explain why one vampire would wish to replace—

No, no. You misapprehend my meaning. My people are being replaced by your people, by breeders.

How do you know this?

Six years ago—about a year before I started working for Gerald—I found myself in something of a bad patch. I sought the aid of an old friend. I went to his place of business, unannounced, to get the lay of the land before approaching him. It is a painfully learned habit of mine to do so. He was walking the floor. Our eyes met, and what I had interpreted as recognition—because that is what I had wished—was nothing more than the anticipation on his part of a customer in need of assistance. Only when it became obvious he knew me not did I focus all of my attention on him. I heard the beat of his heart and espied the sheen of nascent perspiration on his forehead.

And vampires don’t sweat.

We do not.

How close was he to your friend?

Mannerisms, posture, diction, skin tone, build, hair color and style; everything visible and noticeable was exactly as it should have been.

Someone went to a lot of trouble. What kind of business?

A very upscale antiques store.

Of course. Which would mean clientele to match.

That was my impression.

Depending on how high-end the clientele are, they may not be the type to report every little loss of property, or scam, or blackmail. Someone of low morals with patience and planning could do well for himself.

Robert, you’re beginning to stray from the fact that someone killed a vampire and replaced him with a breeder.

You expect me to care what happens to vampires after what my niece and nephew and all those other kids went through?

That is what I was working my way toward. What if my friend was not selected because he was a vampire? What if the main criteria were simply that he was a bachelor and the proprietor of a substantial business with long-standing relationships in a community of the well-to-do?

Rob sat silently, not ready to vocalize what he had acknowledged as the logical conclusion to Dyan’s tale, a conclusion he had reached the moment she had said the store owner was a Doppelgänger. If they can do that with a vampire, what’s to stop them from doing it with anyone else?

CHAPTER TWO

Director Longbotham’s office

The Janus Project Campus

Saturday morning, August

Thanks for giving up part of your weekend for me, Les, Rob said before sitting.

Don’t flatter yourself. We are less than two months out from the acceptance testing that will allow The Janus Project to become fully operational. My private shower is getting a lot of use these days, and every time I manage to go home, my wife demands two-factor authentication that it’s me. I was going to be here anyway.

Longbotham’s office was Spartan in its amenities and lacked any personal touches—not even a nameplate sat on his desk—but he had spent so much time in it over the years that the space had taken on his personality. Anyone stepping into the director’s unoccupied office for the first time would have no doubt it belonged to him.

Gerald Hartley is on his way back. I got the word last night. We’re anticipating his actual return on Wednesday.

Is this a congratulatory moment?

The guys on the weekend shift probably see it that way. They become trained monkeys when they’re with her, but I must say, her place is always exceptionally tidy and clean come Monday morning.

I’ll be sure to put a letter in their file regarding going above and beyond, not for the cleaning but for surviving their time with her.

Thanks. They deserve it.

But you have reservations.

Of course. I’m about to have a person known for her misbehavior all to myself until she testifies, whenever that is.

Good. I’m glad you remain aware of the complexity of your situation.

You mind if I go outside and come back in?

Why?

I just want to make sure I’m in your office and not Clem’s.

You know the reasons for my observation.

I do. You probably have more undercover time than I do, and what we’re being forced to do with Ms. Strother has many of the same conditions. This will not be the usual witness protection operation. It’s important to remain objective. Rob took in a deep breath and let it out. It just doesn’t feel right for such insight to come from someone other than Clem.

Since you opened with news about Hartley’s return, you must have a plan in mind for Ms. Strother.

I do. As you know from Clem’s assessment, Ms. Strother is not a candidate for hypnosis, which means our approach with Larry Henderson at Chaco Canyon won’t work for her. She has a past that makes finding a time and a place to hide her in nearly impossible, and not just from her own travels. The organizations she has been associated with over the years were populated with very transient individuals. Being close to the present time could be our safest option.

All right. I’ll go along with only a short jump back in time. Any past associates who bump into her will think they must be mistaken because they would know she’s living in Maryland and working for Hartley. If they still have doubts, when they call the office, she’ll answer the phone.

That saved me a lot of talking, Rob commented.

It was obvious where you were going and not too far from what I’ve had in mind.

My plan has two parts. After much elimination, we’ve decided the best place to stick her is western Nebraska. Plenty of small cities with populations no larger than 15,000. Part One is for me to go solo in current time to get the lay of the land and make sure there’s no one for me to bump into. Shouldn’t be, but with the Interstate providing a speedy East-West route through the southern part, seeing a familiar face or two from my DEA days would not be that big of a surprise. If the coast is clear, Part Two is to take Ms. Strother on the same tour for the same reason.

And you’re scoping things out in current time with the belief that if there are bad guys now, there’s a good chance there were bad guys a few months ago.

Yes. Police blotters and newspapers only tell you what’s been reported. The time frame we’re talking about has some pretty boring reading.

Have you checked with the alphabets yet?

They and their offspring say they had no operations in the area going back to the beginning of the year and nothing currently in the works. I did loop back around and went straight to Homeland Security and got the predictable, ‘No. Is there something we need to know?’

Sounds good so far. Anything happens while you’re out on your scouting trips won’t matter because you and Ms. Strother will be going to the past.

Exactly

You trust her enough still to be with her as her husband?

Fortunately, I don’t have to trust her. This is one of those situations where trust lies with the other party. She has no doubt that if she sneaks out on me, I will do whatever it takes to get her back.

An easy thing for a wealthy dead man with the right skill set and a time machine to pull it off.

So she believes. At least the guys on the relocation side of the house will have it easy. She’ll be in the wind at the first opportunity, which I suppose might not be that bad a thing.

She could kill you.

Always the possibility when I’m alone with her. But if she’s going to do it, it will be when being the center of attention and the uniqueness of her situation are no longer shiny things, neither of which is likely to occur as long as her testimony is required.

Longbotham drummed his fingers on the desk. How far back are you thinking?

May of this year. She and I were both firmly situated on this side of the Mississippi at that time.

Three months back isn’t all that far, given how long the trial is likely to last. I know you will forever be three months back no matter how long you have to keep her in hiding, but once you start intruding on this, our current time, you might start bumping into things that could interfere with decisions we’re making now.

All the more reason to check out more than one location. One August will be our reset date. We hit that date and we still need to keep her, we’ll jump back to May in one of the other towns we’ve cleared and start over. I have four cities picked out with enough physical distance between them that we won’t have to worry about bumping into ourselves. We’ll have a year of safe places if they all pan out.

You’ve put a lot of thought into this in a very short period of time.

The possibilities didn’t hit me until I looked at a map.

Proceed with Part One. On your way out, stop by Operations and pick up your cover packet. After you’ve completed Part One, report back to me and we’ll talk some more and take care of Ms. Strother’s packet.

My cover packet is ready?

"The Attorney General has been keeping me apprised of the Hartley case. This thing is bigger than a big deal. Ms. Strother has been a giant crowbar into global crime going back more than a decade because Hartley piggybacked on the connections that his former boss John Tilley had established. The FBI have the physical evidence to put him and his other associates away for a very long time, but they need her to seal the deal with however many juries are necessary to see and hear all of the evidence. The alphabets, Treasury, Interpol, and just about every law enforcement agency in every country want a piece of what’s on the thumb drive she provided. This ends well and a number of people up and down the food chain will have their careers made, which is probably why you haven’t read about any of this in the Times or the Post.

You’ve spent five nights a week for almost three full months alone with her and your performance and judgment have shown no signs of being impaired. The director leaned back in his chair, a smug smile growing on his lips. Donnie and I anticipated the basics of your request a few days ago.

Rob gestured with his hands. That look tells me there’s more.

"Unlike you, Donnie gets briefed daily on the case and has known for over a week what you know now. Also, unlike you, Donnie and I have used that time and our clear heads to kick around ideas. Your packet for your current-time endeavors includes photo IDs, credit cards, and business cards for the aliases you used while undercover with Acevido and Tilley. You’ll stand a better chance of locating old associates if they come across a familiar name.

"We’re using your present cover as a security consultant since it seems to suit you. Operations has been busy with creating a web presence for your career with a ratings average of four-and-a-half stars after hundreds of reviews.

"Given Ms. Strother’s collection of old books and choice pieces of furniture and china, her cover will have something to do with antiquities. You should be able to narrow down the type after your solo trip.

The way Donnie and I see things playing out is, Ms. Strother picks Hartley up at the airport. We separate them in such a way as to leave Hartley with the impression that both of them are behind bars. By the time he figures out she’s in our hands, you two will already be in the past and out of his reach.

Why did we drag out this whole discussion when you and the AG already had a plan in place?

And that way of thinking is why Donnie and I are comfortable with this unusual arrangement.

I need more than that.

Our lengthy talk was a final verification that you have not been compromised. You know better than most the dangers of being with a subject for an extended period. Given the right conditions, anybody can get lost in a role. We’ve both seen it happen and odds are, over the years, you’ve had more than one occasion when you were lucky enough to be able to say, ‘What the hell was I thinking?’ and learn from it before picking up any scars.

CHAPTER THREE

Ogallala, Nebraska

Saturday afternoon, August

Rob Mackie studied his appearance in the vanity mirror. He had teleported with an overnight bag into the men’s room at the North Platte Regional Airport and driven the rented sedan sixty miles to the hotel on Stagecoach Drive, just off the Ogallala exit.

No disguise altered his appearance. He was not there to hide; he wanted to be recognized. A number of his old associates would find attractive the operation Dyan had described. Fortunately, he was almost a month behind in getting a haircut and he had not taken the time to shave since yesterday morning. He looked as scruffy as he had when he was undercover with Tilley and Acevido. The one thing he had to change was the side on which he parted his hair. Now, it was on the right.

The room was nothing special other than the bedding. The mattress was firm and the pillows of the right thickness to guarantee sleeping all the way to his internal alarm.

He had the room through next Saturday night and the car until 5:00 PM the following Sunday. He would be returning to Dyan’s place Monday morning, but their cover would require having the hotel room and car all week.

After Dyan had promised, convincingly, to be on her best behavior over the weekend, Bertram, one of the weekend protection detail deputies, volunteered to extend his duty time until Rob returned Monday morning, with the caveat that Rob would owe him big time.

The plan for his time in Nebraska was fairly simple: kick over the ant bed that was Metals & Stones and watch the chaos. If he did it right, he would learn more than a little something about the people behind the killing of Tony Rizzo, vampire.

The other cities on his itinerary were Scottsbluff, Chadron, and Alliance. His plan was to visit each one on a giant loop, returning to Ogallala within two days.

A quick map study with his eyes and mind geared toward being an imaginative crime lord made Ogallala a surprisingly ideal location from which to operate a criminal enterprise. It was within an hour’s drive of two regional airports, one to the east and one to the west. The small airstrip on the west side of town provided other travel options should a short-notice trip become necessary. The community was within a half-hour east of the split of the east-west running Interstate 80 into Interstates 80 and 76, each leading eventually, in some fashion, to the West Coast.

The transcontinental railway ran parallel to Interstate 80, sandwiched between the highway and the town.

Nearby Lake McConaughy opened up the possibility of aircraft with flotation devices.

Even in such a small town, unfamiliar faces in the area would not raise anyone’s suspicions.

Commit the crime and get the incriminating evidence out of the local area immediately and store it far away. Then just sit back and wait for things to settle down again before going after the next mark.

The trick would be to… Wait. I have definitely operated in big cities too long. The population in town is under 5,000, and most everyone here is into ranching and farming and tourism. There can’t be enough fat cats in the area to support the kind of operation I had in mind...

What if these guys really are the imaginative types? What if the transportation access isn’t for moving goods out but for bringing them in? Use the jewelry store for collection, laundering, and possibly just a basic holding site…

An unsubstantiated conclusion, but so was the one I came here with. I have to be careful that I don’t let either influence my poking around. But I do like it. Commit the initial crimes in cities far from here. Let the crime patterns materialize at those locations. Move the proceeds off-site as quickly as possible before they can become evidence. When things start getting too hot, close up shop and set up in a new city. Not having the infrastructure necessary to keep their gains at hand for onsite transactions would simplify the move.

Such a setup would require a lot of trust, or at least enough fear to discourage absconding with the goods once they arrive. Highly structured compartmentalization would work, too.

A family operation? Or maybe old friends, high school buddies from a small town or a tight neighborhood? Military buddies with joint combat in their recent past?

But what kind of crime? Or should that be kinds of crimes? It doesn’t matter, really, other than the types of people involved. And Tilley and Acevido had people who might be a part of whatever is going on here.

And if all of that is at least near the mark, how much does Dyan know or suspect? What is her true agenda? Her concern for her allegedly dead friend is not in character.

The jewelry store was exactly as Dyan had described. Of course, Metals & Stones had an online presence, but photographs and short, voiced-over promotional video clips cannot convey sounds and scents: linseed oil on original wood floors that creak ever so slightly under foot; Murphy’s soap on antique cabinetry with hinges that rasp with embarrassment; or crystal chandeliers that tinkle in wind accompanying each opening of the doors.

The rafters, as well as the ventilation system, were exposed, revealing the architectural craftsmanship common at the turn of the previous century.

Ceiling fans were scattered throughout, spinning silently.

Heating and cooling this place must cost a small fortune.

The glass covering the display cases was so clean, were it not for the occasional glint of light on the surfaces, he could have been convinced easily the merchandise were out in the open to be fondled freely.

It was a comfortable building, free of the museum qualities many well-kept, old buildings have. It was a place that enjoyed having an active purpose.

Within the first few moments upon entering the store, Rob caught sight of Dyan’s friend but ignored him while pretending to gawk at all the pretty, although he had to admit he had to do little in the way of acting. The merchandise and décor left the immediate impression of a very high-end establishment, but the prices and the dress of the milling clientele seemed to suggest something less.

May I help you with something in particular? His voice was unhurried and warm. This was someone who knew his wares could sell themselves without assistance.

What? Oh, uh, no. I’m still in the walking-around-with-my-mouth-open phase.

First time here?

It is.

I thought your face was unfamiliar. What brought you in?

Curiosity. My wife and I are planning to relocate and I’m scoping things out.

The store owner lifted his eyes and swept them across his establishment.

Sorry. I’m here solo. She can’t break free until Wednesday.

The owner looked around the store again. We’re still a little slow at the moment. What would you like to know about our little community, Mister—?

Macklin. Roger Macklin, he said, using the alias from his time in Tilley’s employ. The two men shook hands.

I’m Tony Rizzo. This is my place.

And a very nice place it is.

Thank you. We like to think so. The building has been in my family since it was built in 1883 as the first, full-time mercantile exchange in town and the only structure of its kind still standing.

You’ve done well with the upgrades to keep it modern without letting the changes interfere with the overall ambiance.

You’re starting to interest me, Mr. Macklin. What exactly do you do for a living?

Nothing, anymore. Real estate and municipal bonds are taking care of my needs these days, but I used to be in the security business.

And what can a man of your background tell me about my place?

I’ve only just stepped inside so the best I can do is give you a first impression.

I hope this doesn’t mean you’re planning to disappoint.

No, but without knowing the hardware you have in the room beneath the northeast corner, I’ll be somewhat limited in my assessment.

Well, now, you do have an eye. Please, impress me further.

"Having a corner lot puts you at a disadvantage, security-wise, because you necessarily need to have entrances on both streets. That also means you need the big plate-glass windows on two sides so you can display your wares no matter which way your prospective customers approach. But that’s actually shatterproof glass, same as what you have on the display cases.

"The weathered, wood bollards separating the parking lot from the building remind me of a wharf where boats can tie off for loading and unloading goods. It’s a nice touch. I suspect that if I lift up on any one of those bollards, I’ll discover that the wood is a sleeve covering thick, solid posts of either cast iron or stainless steel or steel poles sunk deep into the ground and filled with concrete.

"Your exterior walls along East ‘A’ Street are reinforced up to about waist high, which is a couple of inches below your windows. I suspect zoning laws did not allow for bollards so close to the street. Anyone using a vehicle to gain access to your goodies is not going to be able to use that vehicle for getting away, even if they back in.

"Your customer entrances are alcoves about three feet deep. Architecturally and aesthetically, the alcoves match the overall motif, but their real purpose is to hide the embedded sensors that detect five-finger discounted merchandise leaving the store.

"About seven feet inside and directly in line with the entrances are very nice and sturdy display boxes showing the layout of the store. They start out waist-high on the entrance side but slope upward to almost shoulder high on the other side. The customers find them very useful, but they also prevent a thief from making a straight dash at the doors.

"You have your eye-in-the-sky surveillance bubbles in all the expected places, but we both know those are just for show. All of your real surveillance devices, including the heat and motion sensors, are cleverly concealed in the decorations. Most are set up to cover the floor but you have at least a pair pointing upward for anyone who decides to come in through the roof.

"Your employee entrance door in back is not the only item re-enforced. I suspect that whole section from stud to stud is a lot sturdier than meets the eye.

"I also suspect the power line from the pole to the meter is for show. The real line is buried under the parking lot—as is your phone line.

And the last of my suspicions is that your backup power generator exhausts out through the restroom ventilation system.

Why on earth did you ever get out of the security business?

Technology.

"How do you mean? Has it advanced so much that your type