hear from Molly’s daughter.”
Frustrated, Quince said, “Will you at least send out an announcement to everyone in the facility? If anyone has had dealings with the Veterans Relief Fund, I’d like them to contact me.” Quince handed her a business card. “Or if they have informationabout how Molly came into contact with the fraudulent charity, I’d like to hear it.”
“I’ll print up a notice and have our volunteer deliver it this evening.”
“Any ideas how Molly met the con man?”
“She spent a lot of time at the library and at the Hartford Senior Center, but if she had guests in her home, I didn’t know about it.”
“I’ll check out the senior center.” Quince stood. “They took seven thousand from Molly. I suspect they’ll close out their account and disappear if we don’t act quickly.”
“I’ll get the memo out now.”
“Call me the minute you have any information.” Quince thanked her and left. In the lobby, he checked his cell phone for e-mail messages. Jackson had notified him of a task force meeting at six. He still had some time.
“Mr. Quince,” the director called out, as he headed for the main door.
He turned around.
“Molly’s daughter says to do everything you can to catch the bastard.”
CHAPTER 8
In the forty minutes it took the Explosives Disposal Unit to arrive, Jackson’s team searched every drawer, cupboard, and dark space in the house and the garage, which held mostly tools and more food supplies. They’d debated the merits and risks of staying in the house and continuing their search, then decided to proceed. Knowing the dynamite and blasting caps were in the back closet made them all a little jittery, but the family had lived in the home with the knowledge, so the fear was mostly psychological.
As long as nothing dramatic—like an earthquake or a falling tree—occurred while they were inside, they rationalized it would be fine. Once the EDU arrived, the experts would evacuate not only the house but likely the neighbors as well while they moved the explosives into the containment unit for transfer and disposal. So Jackson and his team made the most of the few minutes they had, gathering up personal papers, the family computer, and most of the knives in the kitchen for comparison to the victim’s wound.
Finding nothing else of significance in the house, Jackson headed out the sliding door to see what surprises awaited outside. The black Lab began barking excitedly, but it was penned in a long run parallel to the greenhouse, so Jackson ignored the raucous sound. Evans hadn’t exaggerated the minifarm setup. He even spotted a goat under a tree near the back fence. The side-by-side sheds on the left were what interested him. One was padlocked, so Jackson opened the other and found it full of split wood. He paused in front of the second green metal building. Bashing in the door wouldn’t be wise, considering what they’d found in the closet. Long-handled metal cutters would do the job, but he didn’t carry those in his car. The bomb squad would have to handle it. He hoped the shed held only power tools. Why had they kept the explosives in the house? Fear of them being stolen? Or fear of that fir tree falling on the shed and setting off an explosion that might take out the back of the house?
From the back door, he heard Schak yell, “You gotta come see this!”
Jackson hurried inside, wondering what new oddity they’d found.
The coat closet in the living room was open, and the access to the crawl space under the house had been exposed.
Schak handed him a flashlight. “Take a peek.”
Jackson kneeled and leaned his head down into the cool, damp air, praying he wouldn’t have to crawl under the house and retrieve whatever it was. The beam of the flashlight showed dozens of small wooden barrels sitting in the spaces between the foundation supports under the house. Mingled with the wet dirt smell was the rich aroma of aged whiskey. His body relaxed,
Frustrated, Quince said, “Will you at least send out an announcement to everyone in the facility? If anyone has had dealings with the Veterans Relief Fund, I’d like them to contact me.” Quince handed her a business card. “Or if they have informationabout how Molly came into contact with the fraudulent charity, I’d like to hear it.”
“I’ll print up a notice and have our volunteer deliver it this evening.”
“Any ideas how Molly met the con man?”
“She spent a lot of time at the library and at the Hartford Senior Center, but if she had guests in her home, I didn’t know about it.”
“I’ll check out the senior center.” Quince stood. “They took seven thousand from Molly. I suspect they’ll close out their account and disappear if we don’t act quickly.”
“I’ll get the memo out now.”
“Call me the minute you have any information.” Quince thanked her and left. In the lobby, he checked his cell phone for e-mail messages. Jackson had notified him of a task force meeting at six. He still had some time.
“Mr. Quince,” the director called out, as he headed for the main door.
He turned around.
“Molly’s daughter says to do everything you can to catch the bastard.”
CHAPTER 8
In the forty minutes it took the Explosives Disposal Unit to arrive, Jackson’s team searched every drawer, cupboard, and dark space in the house and the garage, which held mostly tools and more food supplies. They’d debated the merits and risks of staying in the house and continuing their search, then decided to proceed. Knowing the dynamite and blasting caps were in the back closet made them all a little jittery, but the family had lived in the home with the knowledge, so the fear was mostly psychological.
As long as nothing dramatic—like an earthquake or a falling tree—occurred while they were inside, they rationalized it would be fine. Once the EDU arrived, the experts would evacuate not only the house but likely the neighbors as well while they moved the explosives into the containment unit for transfer and disposal. So Jackson and his team made the most of the few minutes they had, gathering up personal papers, the family computer, and most of the knives in the kitchen for comparison to the victim’s wound.
Finding nothing else of significance in the house, Jackson headed out the sliding door to see what surprises awaited outside. The black Lab began barking excitedly, but it was penned in a long run parallel to the greenhouse, so Jackson ignored the raucous sound. Evans hadn’t exaggerated the minifarm setup. He even spotted a goat under a tree near the back fence. The side-by-side sheds on the left were what interested him. One was padlocked, so Jackson opened the other and found it full of split wood. He paused in front of the second green metal building. Bashing in the door wouldn’t be wise, considering what they’d found in the closet. Long-handled metal cutters would do the job, but he didn’t carry those in his car. The bomb squad would have to handle it. He hoped the shed held only power tools. Why had they kept the explosives in the house? Fear of them being stolen? Or fear of that fir tree falling on the shed and setting off an explosion that might take out the back of the house?
From the back door, he heard Schak yell, “You gotta come see this!”
Jackson hurried inside, wondering what new oddity they’d found.
The coat closet in the living room was open, and the access to the crawl space under the house had been exposed.
Schak handed him a flashlight. “Take a peek.”
Jackson kneeled and leaned his head down into the cool, damp air, praying he wouldn’t have to crawl under the house and retrieve whatever it was. The beam of the flashlight showed dozens of small wooden barrels sitting in the spaces between the foundation supports under the house. Mingled with the wet dirt smell was the rich aroma of aged whiskey. His body relaxed,
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