Dead Men's Tales (Olivia Grant Mysteries Book 2) by Phyllis A. Humphrey Page A
Authors: Phyllis A. Humphrey
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Hammond's initials on the briefcase. "I hope your success as an investigator doesn't always hinge on such fortuitous circumstances."
He sounded a little defensive. "I searched long and hard for this thing. I deserve a bit of luck."
"Yet, you can't return it to Amanda. You have to give it back to Novotny."
Brad frowned. "Actually, I may have to turn it over to the police."
"And they'll keep it forever and hamper business, just what Amanda didn't want."
"I'll call Amanda and tell her that we have it. However, if the cops think it's evidence, I can't withhold it."
"We don't know that it is evidence. It may never have been at the crime scene at all. Maybe Novotny found it somewhere else. Besides, Amanda said it contained only business papers."
"Nevertheless, I have to follow the rules."
"It seems a little nitpicky to me. Where did you learn that?"
"Those three years on the police force." He didn't look up for a minute, then added. "You expected it, didn't you? Isn't that why you, Samantha, and I were sent to Sunday School?"
I'd never been able to determine when Brad was serious and when he was pulling my leg, and our parents had been strict about our attending church all through our teens. Church and Sunday school attendance had not ranked high with their fellow baby boomers, but our mother believed in it and continued the tradition raising Brad, Samantha, and me. Since then, I often wondered if the proliferation of crime among younger and younger children had anything to do with their lack of moral education on weekends. As for Brad, I remembered his attendance stopped after he turned sixteen, but at least the lessons had apparently not gone in one ear and out the other without ever touching brain matter.
He picked up the case and strode into his office, placing it on top of his desk. He grabbed the phone with his free hand before he sat down. He soon had Amanda on the line, and then he opened the briefcase, which, as it turned out, hadn't been locked.
I jumped up from my chair and hurried after him, leaning across his desk to look at the contents. While he read off the names on the file folders inside, I removed a video cartridge. Neither it nor the slipcase bore any kind of label, so it didn't appear to be a rented movie. That piqued my curiosity.
I turned it over in my hands. It was a VHS tape. Very old school. Who had used it and what for?
Brad made notes on one of his yellow pads, and I heard his half of their conversation.
"Maybe not," he said into the phone. "Depends on whether they think it's important. I'll call my friend Tom Ortega and ask him." I heard only a lot of silence on Brad's end, and then Amanda apparently agreed he could talk to Tom, and he hung up.
"What about the videotape?" I asked. "Did Amanda say what that's all about?"
"She says it's just pictures of fancy jewelry. You know, necklaces, bracelets, things like that."
"But who uses VHS? Does Amanda know it's an old tape?"
"Yes."
He picked up the phone again, and I heard him ask for Tom, so I put the recorder on the desk and went back to the outer office again.
After another five minutes, Brad came out and told me to call Novotny and arrange to swap briefcases with him. "Find out how he came to have it, and tell him to give it back to Amanda right away."
"Tom doesn't think the police need to see it? Is he sure about that?"
"I described everything in it, and he said they already had all the information about who Hammond visited in Los Angeles."
"And the videotape?"
"Tom said that unless it showed the murderer committing the crime—which is hardly likely with no camera in that hotel linen room—he'd just believe Amanda's statement that it contained pictures of jewelry."
That surprised me, but who was I to question the workings of the law?
Brad had his hand on the knob of the outer door when I stopped him. "I have to teach a bridge class this afternoon, so I'll be out for two or three hours."
He turned back. "I'll be having lunch
He sounded a little defensive. "I searched long and hard for this thing. I deserve a bit of luck."
"Yet, you can't return it to Amanda. You have to give it back to Novotny."
Brad frowned. "Actually, I may have to turn it over to the police."
"And they'll keep it forever and hamper business, just what Amanda didn't want."
"I'll call Amanda and tell her that we have it. However, if the cops think it's evidence, I can't withhold it."
"We don't know that it is evidence. It may never have been at the crime scene at all. Maybe Novotny found it somewhere else. Besides, Amanda said it contained only business papers."
"Nevertheless, I have to follow the rules."
"It seems a little nitpicky to me. Where did you learn that?"
"Those three years on the police force." He didn't look up for a minute, then added. "You expected it, didn't you? Isn't that why you, Samantha, and I were sent to Sunday School?"
I'd never been able to determine when Brad was serious and when he was pulling my leg, and our parents had been strict about our attending church all through our teens. Church and Sunday school attendance had not ranked high with their fellow baby boomers, but our mother believed in it and continued the tradition raising Brad, Samantha, and me. Since then, I often wondered if the proliferation of crime among younger and younger children had anything to do with their lack of moral education on weekends. As for Brad, I remembered his attendance stopped after he turned sixteen, but at least the lessons had apparently not gone in one ear and out the other without ever touching brain matter.
He picked up the case and strode into his office, placing it on top of his desk. He grabbed the phone with his free hand before he sat down. He soon had Amanda on the line, and then he opened the briefcase, which, as it turned out, hadn't been locked.
I jumped up from my chair and hurried after him, leaning across his desk to look at the contents. While he read off the names on the file folders inside, I removed a video cartridge. Neither it nor the slipcase bore any kind of label, so it didn't appear to be a rented movie. That piqued my curiosity.
I turned it over in my hands. It was a VHS tape. Very old school. Who had used it and what for?
Brad made notes on one of his yellow pads, and I heard his half of their conversation.
"Maybe not," he said into the phone. "Depends on whether they think it's important. I'll call my friend Tom Ortega and ask him." I heard only a lot of silence on Brad's end, and then Amanda apparently agreed he could talk to Tom, and he hung up.
"What about the videotape?" I asked. "Did Amanda say what that's all about?"
"She says it's just pictures of fancy jewelry. You know, necklaces, bracelets, things like that."
"But who uses VHS? Does Amanda know it's an old tape?"
"Yes."
He picked up the phone again, and I heard him ask for Tom, so I put the recorder on the desk and went back to the outer office again.
After another five minutes, Brad came out and told me to call Novotny and arrange to swap briefcases with him. "Find out how he came to have it, and tell him to give it back to Amanda right away."
"Tom doesn't think the police need to see it? Is he sure about that?"
"I described everything in it, and he said they already had all the information about who Hammond visited in Los Angeles."
"And the videotape?"
"Tom said that unless it showed the murderer committing the crime—which is hardly likely with no camera in that hotel linen room—he'd just believe Amanda's statement that it contained pictures of jewelry."
That surprised me, but who was I to question the workings of the law?
Brad had his hand on the knob of the outer door when I stopped him. "I have to teach a bridge class this afternoon, so I'll be out for two or three hours."
He turned back. "I'll be having lunch
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