Will Hogarth Series 4: The Telltale Tempest by Don McGraw

Author:Don McGraw [McGraw, Don]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Thriller, Contemporary Fiction
Amazon: B005DGPHFO
Publisher: Bridgeway Books
Published: 2013-12-24T05:00:00+00:00

I learned of the riot in the Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport terminal. It shook me to the core. I could only wonder if I had crossed paths with the deceased or one of his cronies the night before. However far-fetched that notion may be I couldn’t dispel it completely.

I had called Martin McRae from my hotel room to alert him of my encounter. If I was a target, he should assume he may become one, too. McRae received the warning like old news. I suppose he’d seen far worse in the sixties.

As for Lacey—she didn’t need to know everything right as it happened.

And me, well I’d been shot at before—I know how to get past it, and I certainly know the difference between a warning and an intention to kill. Last night was a warning, but warnings don’t last forever, they’re warnings after all; clear messages to alter one’s behavior. Warnings start the clock, and this was my second warning.

I was home before noon to an empty house. Lace left a note stating they headed into town for some necessities. An empty house, I intended to make use of the quiet. I made a mid-day pot of coffee and headed to my hideaway.

I uploaded my digital camera to my hard drive and watched as the crime scene came back to life on my monitor one picture at a time. The quality was exceptional, most credit going to the technology rather than the photographer. To my pleasant surprise I had taken over forty pictures. I could only hope that one held a secret not yet revealed. The bookshelves came into view, first from a distance and then up close. My how Lace will be impressed.

I looked at the books with fresh eyes, hoping against hope that a damaged book would appear, but alas.

I checked my watch, eleven-fifty, that meant it was past noon in DC. And when Charley promised delivery by morning he never failed. His e-mail was marked six a.m. That didn’t leave much hope for a tale of a successful late night date.

I opened the file and pushed print. I think much better walking around or sprawled on a lazy boy than I do staring at a computer screen. In a matter of minutes I had thirty pages of Judge Michael’s Robinson personal financial affairs. It was time to return to my roots. I replaced my bounty hunter hat with the modest headwear of a CPA.

The documents were in Excel format, crudely laid out at best. It was clear to see that I was privy to Michael Robinson’s personal files. That can be good and bad. Good from the sense that I get to look at the unaltered compilation of holdings that held nothing back for the sake of taxes; the Bad was the validation of accuracy. What I had in front of me was completely unaudited.

I thumbed quickly through to review the totals; assets exceed liabilities by twelve million. A healthy net worth, as expected. Now to dissect.

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